The Photograph
by Midnight's Raven
Summary: Johnny is sent a picture that sparks a mystery. Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The Dead Zone and all related material are property of USA Network and Stephen King. This is just a fan fiction story for fun.  
  
  
  
  
  
The cool morning air nipped at Johnny Smith's face as he walked slowly to the mailbox in front of his house, wondering what surprise waited for him there. The story of his "talent" had gotten all around the country, and people had been constantly sending things they wanted him to touch.  
  
Find my missing daughter, find my lost dog, is my ex-wife remarried, when am I going to die...  
  
Every day brought some new surprise, although over the weeks, his national popularity was dying down. He usually only got one or two new objects a week, but he always sent them back, unopened.  
  
Johnny limped over to the mailbox, leaning heavily on his cane. He had slept on his hip wrong, leaving a dull ache radiating up and down his leg. He opened the mailbox and reached inside without looking, grabbing the bunch of letters that were inside. He took a quick glance inside before closing it, relieved to find no packages he would have to return.  
  
As he headed back towards the house, a familiar PT cruiser pulled into his driveway, and Johnny groaned silently. His friend Bruce jumped out of the car with his usual exuberance, and Johnny wondered how he could always be so perky in the morning. Physical therapy early in the morning hadn't been his choice, but Bruce said it was the best time of the day for it.  
  
"Good morning," Bruce said, walking towards Johnny. "How'd you sleep?"  
  
"Like a rock," Johnny replied, "but unfortunately, I slept like a two ton rock on my hip."  
  
"Sore?" Bruce asked, a brief look washing over his face.  
  
"Nothing I can't handle," the blonde replied with a smirk, hoping to alleviate his friend's worry. It seemed to work, because Bruce returned the smile.  
  
"So, anything new and exciting in the mail? Who's asking for your help today?"  
  
"No packages, thankfully," Johnny told him, glancing down at the pile of envelopes in his hand. "Looks like bills. Maybe I should try sending those back too. Think that would work?"  
  
"If it did, I wouldn't be in as much debt as I am," Bruce replied with a grin. "Since it doesn't seem like anything pressing, let's get inside and get started."  
  
Johnny sighed and rolled his eyes. "Do we have to start right now? Wouldn't you like a cup of coffee or something?"  
  
"Already had my fill," his friend answered. "The sooner we start, the sooner we'll be done."  
  
Johnny sighed. "You just enjoy torturing me."  
  
"One of the perks of the job."  
  
The pair climbed the stairs to the house, and Johnny lead the way into the front lobby of the house. Bruce closed the door behind him, and immediately headed for the study where they had been having Johnny's physical therapy sessions. Johnny lingered by the door, tossed the mail on the table next to him, then slowly removed his jacket, procrastinating as much as possible. He knew it annoyed Bruce when he dawdled, but if he had to endure the pain of physical therapy, he was going to do it on his time.  
  
"C'mon Johnny, let's get this show on the road," Bruce called from the other room.  
  
"I'm coming," Johnny replied, but he didn't move, instead picking up the pile of mail.  
  
The blonde began flipping through it, not expecting anything spectacular, but it was a diversion from the pain he was about to go through. He was about to toss them aside and join Bruce when he came across a plain white envelope with no return address on it. The address had been hand written in very erratic cursive, almost making his name illegible.  
  
"What is taking you so long?" Bruce sighed, coming up behind Johnny and looking over his shoulder. "What's that?"  
  
"I don't know, there's no return address," Johnny answered, flipping the envelope over and tearing open the flap.  
  
"Probably some more fan mail," Bruce chuckled.  
  
"I hope not. I've got all the 'fans' I can handle."  
  
Johnny reached into the envelope and pulled out a piece of white paper folded carefully around something else. He unfolded the paper, but it had no words on it, but a small piece of paper tumbled out of it and onto the floor. Bruce leaned down and picked it up, and then they realized it wasn't just a piece of paper, but a photo of a young woman. Bruce held it out as the two of them studied it, wondering who she was.  
  
She looked in her mid-teens with long sandy hair and deep brown eyes. Johnny studied the picture for a minute, noticing how sad her features looked. She was smiling in the picture, but he could see something else in her eyes, and he knew the smile was forced.  
  
"Who's that?" Bruce asked, taking the picture off of the sheet of paper and studying it.  
  
"I don't know," Johnny replied, reaching for the picture.  
  
Bruce handed it to Johnny, and before Johnny's fingers had fully grasped it, the blonde stumbled backwards, as if physically struck. He stumbled back unsteadily until he hit the wall, knocking into the table that held the rest of the mail. He reached for the table to stabilize himself, but only succeeded in knocking it to the floor with a loud bang. Johnny would have fallen with it, but Bruce grabbed his elbow and kept him on his feet.  
  
"Johnny?! What's wrong? What is it?" his friend asked, worry saturating his voice.  
  
"I... I..." Johnny stuttered, trying to get words out, but unable to form anything coherent with his lips.  
  
"Just take it easy, man," Bruce said, lowering Johnny to the floor.  
  
Bruce looked into his eyes, and fear consumed him at the vacant, wide-eyed stare that looked back at him.  
  
Johnny tensed all over, his hand wrapped tightly around the picture, crunching the image of the girl in his fist. His arms and legs began shaking, as if in midst of a seizure, and Bruce did his best to hold the blonde in place. He reached over, trying to remove the picture from Johnny's grasp, but his grip was too tight. His knuckles were white but the rest of his hand was dark red from the tightness of his fist, and any attempt to open Johnny's hand failed.  
  
"So cold..." Johnny whispered, his body shivering to emphasize the point. "Dark..."  
  
"Calm down, Johnny, take deep breaths," Bruce told him, feeling helpless. "C'mon, snap out of it, man."  
  
"SHUT UP!" Johnny screamed at the top of his lungs, nearly shattering Bruce's eardrum. "ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!"  
  
Johnny flailed out wildly, knocking Bruce away from him, onto his rump. Bruce got back up onto his knees in front of his friend, reaching to grab his arms and restrain him.  
  
"SHUT UP!" Johnny screeched again, struggling wildly as Bruce grabbed his arms and pinned them at his sides.  
  
Bruce made one more attempt to get the picture out of John's hand, grabbing the top of it and yanking. He only had a split second to hope it wouldn't rip, making it even harder to remove from his friend's hand, but was relieved when the picture yielded and was pulled from Johnny's hand.  
  
Johnny almost immediately started to calm down, his body's spasms slowing to small twitches, and finally ceasing altogether. His body was covered with sweat, and he panted, trying to fill his lungs with precious oxygen, but it felt like he couldn't fill his lungs enough to satisfy his body. He slumped against the wall, his entire body feeling drained.  
  
"Johnny?" Bruce said, kneeling face to face with Johnny. "Speak to me. You okay?"  
  
"I..." Johnny began, sighing with exertion, but his eyes were coming back into focus, finally settling on his friend in front of him. "Yeah, I think so."  
  
"What the hell just happened?" Bruce asked. "What did you see?"  
  
"That's the funny thing," Johnny replied laboriously. "I didn't see anything. Just darkness. I heard voices, and it was cold... but I couldn't see anything."  
  
Johnny looked down at the hand that the picture had been in, surprised to see blood. A long cut ran down the length of his palm sideways and it was trickling blood down his hand and soaking into his shirt.  
  
"Man, I must've cut your hand when I ripped that thing out of it. I'll go get you something to clean that up," Bruce told him, then was on his feet and running towards the bathroom before Johnny could say another word.  
  
Johnny sat and waited for him, leaning heavily against the wall. His body felt like it weighed over a ton, and he couldn't move, even if he wanted to. Bruce came padding down the hall again with a wet towel in his hand, and he began tending to Johnny's wound, but Johnny's eyes were somewhere else.  
  
The crumpled picture on the floor.  
  
Who was this girl, and why had the picture been sent to him?  
  
He didn't know the answers, but from what he had experienced, he needed to find them. 


	2. Chapter 2

Not even an hour later, Johnny stood in front of Walt Bannerman's desk, the envelope and picture lying in front of the sheriff. Johnny sat in a chair facing Walt, while Bruce paced nervously in the background. Johnny studied the face of the sheriff, wondering what was going through his mind as he thought about what Johnny had just told him, but found his serious mask nearly impossible to read.  
  
Walt had always been a serious guy, at least in the short time that Johnny had known him. His face always showed stress and anxiety of the job, but that just showed everyone how dedicated he was to keeping his county safe. While their county was considered small and sleepy by most standards, Walt never let his guard down or became slack in his job. He was always trying to keep his county as safe as possible, but it seemed to get harder and harder to do every day.  
  
"So, you're telling me you don't know who this girl is," Walt finally said after processing the story.  
  
"That's right," Johnny answered, scooting forward in his seat and resting his freshly bandaged hand gently on the top of his cane.  
  
"And you don't know who sent it?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"So what do you want me to do?" Walt asked, shifting his gaze from Johnny to Bruce momentarily, then back to Johnny.  
  
"I was wondering if you could help me figure out who she is," Johnny replied matter of factly.  
  
"How am I supposed to do that?" the sheriff asked, rising from his chair. "We don't keep a database of every person that lives in the United States, you know."  
  
"I know that," Johnny said, following Walt's movement with his eyes. "Can't you run her picture through missing children or something? Maybe we can give her a name, at least."  
  
"I can try, but I can't guarantee anything," Walt told him, moving around in front of his desk, leaning back on it in front of Johnny. "So why this girl, Johnny? I thought you weren't taking mail calls anymore."  
  
"I'm not," Johnny answered, sliding back into the chair again. He stretched his legs foward, hoping to alleviate the slight throbbing in his hip that was starting to send a dull ache down his leg, but it did nothing to help. "I opened that one thinking it was a letter or something. But the picture was the only thing in there. But when I touched it... It was unreal."  
  
"And scary," Bruce added, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. "You think I'd be used to this type of stuff, but when you go crazy like that, it STILL freaks me out."  
  
"So what'd you see?" Walt asked, his curiosity now piqued.  
  
"Nothing," Johnny replied, but continued when he saw the confused look on Walt's face. "I couldn't see anything. It was like being blind... because everything else around me was so much more powerful. It was cold, like my fingertips were about to go numb, and I could hear voices."  
  
"What were they saying?"  
  
"I don't know, it didn't sound like anything intelligible, but it was overpowering. They were all over the place."  
  
"He was yelling for them to shut up, and practically having a seizure," Bruce interrupted again.  
  
"You sure he wasn't having a seizure?" Walt asked Bruce, looking up at him.  
  
"No, because a certain stubborn person wouldn't go to the hospital when I told him he should," Bruce said, glaring daggers at the back of Johnny's head.  
  
"I wasn't having a seizure," Johnny told them. "I'm fine."  
  
"Johnny, maybe you should get checked out-" Walt began, but Johnny stopped him mid-sentence with a dismissive wave of his hand.  
  
"I don't need more tests to be poked and prodded by doctors. I need to find out who that girl is," the blonde said.  
  
"I'll run it through missing persons and see what I can come up with, but don't get your hopes up," Walt sighed, then left the room with the wrinkled picture in his hands.  
  
Johnny turned around in the seat to look at Bruce, who still had a disapproving look in his eyes.  
  
"Would you stop glaring at me like that? I'm fine," Johnny said.  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
Johnny knew it was useless arguing with Bruce, so he rose from the chair, letting out a small grunt as he got to his feet. He reached over Walt's desk and grabbed the envelope. He walked past Bruce and headed for the door, so his friend tagged along behind him.  
  
"Where are you going?" Bruce asked.  
  
"I'm going to see if I can track down where this letter came from." 


	3. Chapter 3

Johnny walked up to the small post office at the center of town, having jumped out of the car before Bruce had even come to a complete stop. Bruce put the car into park, then leaped out, jogging to catch up with Johnny. For a guy that walked with a cane, he could move just as fast as everyone else when he had his mind set on something.  
  
Johnny pushed open the glass door, and above him, a small bell chimed to announce his entrance. He passed the door off to Bruce and approached the counter, just as a portly, older woman walked out from the back room.  
  
"Can I help you boys?" she asked in a friendly tone.  
  
"I'm hoping you can," Johnny replied, putting the envelope down on the counter. "I'm hoping you can tell us how we can track down who sent this."  
  
The woman took the envelope and looked it over briefly, then shook her head as she handed it back.  
  
"There's no return address."  
  
"I know," Johnny told her, holding the envelope out to her again. "Isn't there some other way to track it?"  
  
"Unfortunately," the lady began with another shake of her head, "we don't keep track of individual letters like we do with packages and certified letters. We can't track letters like we do those."  
  
"It's really important that we find out who sent this," Johnny told her, hoping the urgency in his voice would pursuade her to help them. He leaned forward on the counter, placing his hand on the cool surface, and immediately his senses were taken over with a vision.  
  
He saw the outside of the post office as he walked down the stairs of the building across the street from it. Glancing down at himself, Johnny saw that the person was wearing a long, tan trench coat, and a brown business suit. He walked across the street to the post office, then followed the path Johnny and Bruce had taken only moments beforehand. Johnny walked into the post office and approached the same woman, only she was clothed differently.  
  
"I'd like to mail this please,"Johnny said in a voice that wasn't his own, then handed the woman the plain white envelope that had been delivered to his door hours ago.  
  
"Of course, sir," the lady replied. "That will be thirty-four cents for the stamp."  
  
Johnny reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar, handing it to the woman. Johnny took note of the leathery appearance of the man's skin, and the vericose veins that ran across his hand. She looked at the envelope, and put a stamp on it, then looked back up at the gentleman.  
  
"There's no return address, sir. Would you like to write one on there?" she asked.  
  
"No," was his curt reply, and he turned to leave.  
  
"Sir, your change!" she called to him, but the man just walked out the door without responding.  
  
Johnny removed his hand from the counter and he was thrown back into the present conversation, only to find the woman staring at him with an uncertain look in her eyes.  
  
"-said, I'm sorry, sir, but there's nothing I can do," she was saying.  
  
Johnny blinked a couple of times, then processed what she had been saying to him. "Oh, right. Thank you for your time."  
  
Johnny walked out of the post office with Bruce following close behind him, and once they were outside, Bruce moved in front of Johnny, facing off with him.  
  
"So what happened in there? You blanked out on us."  
  
"He was here, Bruce," Johnny told him.  
  
"Who was?"  
  
"The guy that sent me this," he replied, waving the envelope in emphasis. "He sent it from this post office."  
  
"If he was this close to your house, why didn't he just hand deliver it? Your house is maybe a ten minute walk from here," Bruce asked.  
  
"He doesn't want me to know who he is, I guess," Johnny offered, unsure of why the man hadn't come to him himself. "He purposely left no return address. The woman asked him if he wanted to put one, and he said no."  
  
"So who is the guy?"  
  
"I don't know, I couldn't see his face," Johnny answered, then his eyes drifted to the building across the street. "But he went to the post office, from there. Maybe someone there will remember seeing him."  
  
"But if you didn't see his face-" Bruce began.  
  
"I saw what he was wearing, and I have an idea of what age he might be. Maybe that'll be enough to give us a start," Johnny said.  
  
Johnny headed towards the building across the street, the public library, briefly glancing in both directions to check traffic before stepping off the curb. Bruce was about to follow, but he glanced as his watch, cursing silently to himself.  
  
"Look Johnny," he said, "I would love to tag along with you, but I have other stuff to do today."  
  
"It's okay, Bruce," Johnny said, walking backwards across the street, so he could talk to Bruce as he still made his way towards the library. "I'll let you know what I find."  
  
"Okay, Johnny, but don't let this get to you. Maybe this person didn't want to be found."  
  
"Why would they send me the picture if they didn't want me to do something with it?" Johnny retorted, and that question left Bruce without an answer.  
  
Johnny turned on his heel and continued to the library, his cane clacking loudly against the marble stairs. He carefully scaled the slick stairs, then opened the large wooden doors that led inside. The door squealed in protest, its hinges rusting with age, but it relented and allowed him entrance. The main lobby of the library was had a high ceiling that echoed loudly as Johnny walked into the empty library. There was a girl in her mid-twenties perched on a stool behind the counter in the center of the room, and she was completely engrossed in the book placed before her. Johnny approached the counter, but she didn't look up until he cleared his throat to get her attention.  
  
"Excuse me," he said when she finally tore herself away from her book. "I'm hoping you can help me. A friend of mine was in here a few days ago and I was wondering if you'd seen him."  
  
"Well, I'm here every day," the girl replied, pushing her dark brown hair behind her ear. "What's he look like?"  
  
"He's an older gentleman," Johnny told her, remembering the look of the man's hand in his vision. "About my height. He was wearing a long, tan trench coat and a brown business suit."  
  
"Oh, the old, creepy guy," she said, nodding in recognition.  
  
"You remember him?"  
  
"How could I forget?" she replied. "He came in here about a week ago, came over to the counter, and when I looked up from my book, he was staring down at me with these really intense eyes. It was kind of creepy."  
  
"Do you remember what he wanted?"  
  
"He asked me to pull out some microfishe of some newspapers from about ten years ago."  
  
"Could you pull those out for me?" Johnny asked her.  
  
"Sure," she answered with a shrug, then jumped off her stool. She went into a door behind the counter, and about ten minutes later, she returned with several cards of microfiche in her hands. She walked back up to the counter and handed them to him, then pointed to some desks behind him.  
  
"You can use the machines over there," the girl told him. "Give me a holler if you need help."  
  
"Thanks," he said, taking the cards from her.  
  
Johnny walked over to the desks, sitting down at the first one he came to. He leaned his cane against the table, making sure it wouldn't fall, then pulled the chair out and sat down in front of the magnifier. He flipped the switch in the front on, and it took a minute for the bulb to warm up before the lamp in the reader came on. Starting with the sheet on top, Johnny inserted it into the reader, then began going through the old newspaper articles.  
  
He spent the next several hours flipping through old newspaper articles from early spring ten years earlier. Johnny glanced over at the counter but saw no sign of the girl that had helped him. He looked back at the screen in front of him, beginning to wonder if he was wasting his time. The articles had started blending together, making very little, if any, sense. He told himself that he was going to give up after the sheet he had just placed in the reader, not expecting to find anything. He was about to flip off the reader's lamp when he saw a familiar picture in the bottom left corner of the page.  
  
Johnny leaned forward in his seat, recognizing the picture as the one that had been sent to his house, then his eyes carried further down the page, reading the article that surrounded the picture.  
  
"Girl Institutionalized After Murdering Family," the title read in bold letters across the top.  
  
Johnny read on in interest, wondering why this particular picture had been sent to him. He read through the article, and in typical empty fashion, the reporter told the story of the girl in the picture with no gruesome detail spared.  
  
"Police responded to a very frantic phone call from a local resident late last night," the article began. "Mrs. Lillah Richardson dialed 911 at 11:11pm saying her daughter was 'going crazy.' Police responded as quickly as possible and tried to keep Mrs. Richardson on the phone, but before police could get there, the line went dead. What the police found once they arrived at the Richardson household was disturbing and gruesome."  
  
The article continued down the page, detailing the blood bath that awaited police when they arrived. Apparently, eighteen-year-old Jessica Richardson had returned home that night and viciously murdered her parents inexplicably, stabbing them to death with a pair of scissors. The police described Jessica as being emotionally disturbed and paranoid when they arrived. She was said to be hovering over her parents' mangled bodies with the bloody weapon in her hand, waving it threateningly at police until they were able to restrain her.  
  
The remaining portion of the article was about Jessica's mental health, and said the girl had been diagnosed as schizophrenic several years beforehand. She had been on drug therapy under the careful supervision of her psychiatrist.  
  
"She was doing so well," the doctor said in an interview. "This is completely unexpected. Jessica showed no signs of regression or rejection of her medication. We're all shocked by this."  
  
Johnny skimmed through the next few weeks of articles about the Richardsons. Jessica had been institutionalized at a Maine state hospital and was under twenty-four hour care. After a few weeks, the articles seemed to dwindle in number until they disappeared completely about two months after the incident, Jessica's picture being replaced with pictures of some other tragedy.  
  
Johnny wrote down some information on a small piece of paper he found on the desk, then gathered up the microfishe and brought it back to the girl sitting at the desk. He thanked her briefly before heading to the door, his footsteps and cane echoing in the massive, empty room, just as they had when he entered.  
  
He stepped outside into the cool air, pulling his coat closed around him to keep himself warm. He glanced at his watch, noticing he had spent most of the day in the library. He was about to walk down the slick stairs to the street when his cell phone rang.  
  
Johnny reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone, briefly glancing at it before answering it.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hey Johnny," Bruce said from the other end of the line. "How goes the search?"  
  
"She has a name now," Johnny told him. "Jessica Richardson."  
  
"Ring any bells?"  
  
"Not really," the blonde replied. "I read about her, she was in the news about ten years ago. I remember the story a little bit, but nothing really significant."  
  
"I've never even heard the name before," Bruce said. "Find anything else out about her?"  
  
"She brutally murdered both of her parents about ten years ago," Johnny said, relaying the information he had just read. "She was a diagnosed schizophrenic, and they think she just went crazy. She was put in a hospital in Bangor."  
  
"Man," Bruce whispered, taking it all in. "Any idea why someone would send you her picture?"  
  
"Not a clue," Johnny answered, having asked himself that very question. "But I want to find out. Feel like taking a little road trip?"  
  
"Sure," Bruce replied. "I can meet up with you in about an hour."  
  
"Great, I'll meet you at my place," Johnny said, and after they said their goodbyes, he hung up his phone, heading home.  
  
As he walked, Johnny thought more about what he had read, but nothing seemed to make sense as to why anyone would want to send him a ten year old picture of a girl. When he reached his door, Johnny had more questions, but less answers, hoping that he would be able to unravel this mystery. 


	4. Chapter 4

Johnny walked into his house and removed his coat, tossing it over one of his kitchen chairs. He walked over to the counter and grabbed the coffee pot, filling it with water before he emptied out the filter from the morning's pot and putting a fresh one in. He filled the filter with fresh coffee, then poured the water into the machine and turned it on. The coffee had just begun to brew when there was a knock at his door.  
  
Johnny walked over to the door, expecting Bruce, but surprised when he saw a familiar red-head standing on his steps.  
  
"Hi Dana," he greeted her, unable to hide the surprise from his voice. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"  
  
"I stopped by the police station, as I regularly do, and Walt tells me that you stopped by this morning to visit him," she said, but Johnny couldn't read the expression on her face to even begin to guess the purpose of her visit. "You couldn't even wait for me to get there, could you?"  
  
"Sorry, I must've missed the vision that told me you'd be there later today," Johnny shot back with a smirk.  
  
Johnny opened the door wider to let her in and she nodded in thanks. Dana walked in the door and headed towards the kitchen. Johnny followed, closing the front door behind them. He lead her into the kitchen where she took off her coat and tossed it over the back of a chair before sitting down in it.  
  
"So I have a feeling you have something to tell me," Johnny said as he leaned against the counter. "Coffee?"  
  
"Sure," she replied, turning her chair slightly so she could watch him across the room as reached into the cabinet for two coffee mugs. "You have a vision that I was going to be here?"  
  
Johnny smiled. "No, just plain old intuition telling me that you've got information I'm going to want, seeing how it's the middle of the day and you're knocking at my door."  
  
"Well, you're right," Dana said, watching as he bustled around the kitchen.  
  
Johnny heard her move, and he looked up from the coffee maker to look at her. Despite the rocky start they had gotten off to, Dana had actually proved to be a good ally to have. He watched her as she glanced over her notes, her shiny red hair cascading down into her face, and she had to push it back behind her ear. When she looked up, Johnny quickly looked away, hoping she hadn't noticed his staring.  
  
Johnny wasn't sure if she hadn't noticed or was just pretending, but either way she had no reaction to his looking at her. "Here's the scoop. Her name is Jessica Richardson. Walt gave me the picture to see what I could dig up when he got nothing from the missing children. I really don't think he looked very hard, since I came in not long after you left."  
  
"I expected as much," Johnny replied, turning to face her since the coffee had not finished brewing yet. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms across his chest. "Walt's a busy guy."  
  
"True, and I'm a busy woman, but I made the time to find out who she was," Dana retorted.  
  
"Touché," Johnny replied. "But you're a little late, I already found out her name."  
  
"Turning into an amateur sleuth yourself, eh Johnny?" she said. "So I guess you know all about how she brutally murdered her parents?"  
  
"Yeah, I found the old newspaper articles," he replied.  
  
"And I guess you know all about the millions she inherited when her parents died?"  
  
That caught Johnny by surprise. The articles he read hadn't mentioned anything about an inheritance, and he thought that was something journalists would hardly overlook. Dana saw the surprised look on his face and knew she had something he didn't.  
  
"Guess you weren't so thorough, Sherlock," she chuckled.  
  
"I'm still learning," Johnny shrugged.  
  
He turned around and poured two cups of coffee into waiting mugs once the pot had finished brewing, then replaced the pot on the heater. He limped over to the table, being careful not to spill the hot liquid on himself, then sat down at the table across from her.  
  
"So enlighten me, oh wise one," Johnny said, then took a sip of his coffee.  
  
"News of her inheritance didn't hit the papers until four months after she killed her folks," Dana explained. "Her lawyers kept it under tight wraps because they knew if news of it got out, immediately people would start thinking she wasn't crazy and just killed them to get the money."  
  
"But when people did find out, the fact that they hid it made it even worse," Johnny added.  
  
"Exactly. When the papers got word of the fact she was now a millionaire, accusations came from all over the place. Her family tried to get the money from her, tried suing her and taking her to court. Problem was, no one could confirm that she really wasn't insane. Her doctor wouldn't let anyone to see her, wouldn't let any doctors examine her, saying it was against her best interest. The will was iron clad, and the family wasn't happy about it. Jessica was to inherit everything no matter what."  
  
"So how much did she inherit exactly?"  
  
"Ten million dollars," Dana told him.  
  
Johnny whistled and his eyes widened slightly. "Was her family wealthy?"  
  
"Not extremely, but they were well off. They had hired help, a large house in Bangor, and everything like that. Her parents took out extremely high life insurance plans because they were afraid with Jessica's mental health problems, she wouldn't be able to take care of herself when they were gone."  
  
"Where was the help the night she killed them?"  
  
"Apparently, they had the night off. They always had Tuesdays off."  
  
"And Jessica would know that," Johnny said, looking down at his coffee in thought.  
  
"Which is exactly why her family thought she had set it all up and staged the whole thing. No one could prove otherwise though because her doctor wouldn't allow it. Every time a new family lawsuit would come up, he would testify that she wasn't mentally capable for a trial. The family stopped accepting his analysis and insisted she be examined by someone of their choosing. Her doctor wasn't happy about it, but he allowed it."  
  
"And...?" Johnny prodded when she paused.  
  
"And he gave the same diagnosis. Paranoid schizophrenic. Eventually the family gave up and the lawsuits were dropped."  
  
Johnny held his coffee mug between his hands, contemplating what he had just heard. What did all of this have to do with him? And who was the man that had gone to the post office to send him the picture from the article? Dana watched him for a minute or two, letting him mull over the details before interrupting his thoughts.  
  
"So, what's the plan?" she asked, looking at him expectantly.  
  
"I don't know about you, but I'm taking a trip out to visit Jessica Richardson," he answered. 


	5. Chapter 5

An hour later, Johnny was sitting in the passenger side of Bruce's PT cruiser, and he looked in the rearview mirror to see Dana's white convertible following close behind them.  
  
"So why is she tagging along?" Bruce asked, glancing in the mirror as well..  
  
"I think it has to do with journalist pride or something," Johnny replied. "She gave me some information about Jessica, and now this is her story, too."  
  
"And I'm sure she'll find some way to get it into the papers," Bruce added with a snap to his voice.  
  
"I don't know," Johnny said. "This story has been covered from every angle for the last ten years."  
  
"Obviously there's more to the story if someone's sending you her picture."  
  
"Or maybe it's just someone playing a cruel joke on me," Johnny said, turning to look at Bruce. "It's happened before, you know."  
  
"Believe me, I know," Bruce said, briefly looking at Johnny before turning his eyes back to the road. "Your good-doing ways are pretty well known, so there's always some crazy person out there to take advantage of it."  
  
"Yeah," Johnny agreed, "but I don't get that feeling in this case. I really think there's something I'm supposed to be seeing about this."  
  
"Maybe there isn't, Johnny," Bruce said, glancing over at his friend again. "What if we're on a wild goose chase?"  
  
"I thought of that, and you might be right. Maybe I'm wasting my time, but that vision this morning was too intense to be nothing. I'd rather check this out as much as I can, and if it leads to a dead end, at least I'll be able to sleep at night knowing I tried."  
  
"True enough," Bruce said, and the two spent the rest of the ride in quiet contemplation.  
  
Less than an hour later, Bruce pulled into a long driveway that lead up to a very large, historic looking building. The driveway leading to the hospital was lined with enormous pine trees, keeping the drive in almost complete darkness despite the fact it was the middle of the afternoon. The front of the building was made of gray brick that showed the hospital's age with their worn appearance, chips and holes scattered across the surface.  
  
Bruce pulled into a parking space near the entrance, and the two got out just as Dana pulled her car into the space next to them. Johnny and Bruce waited for her to get out, then all three proceeded up the stone stairs leading into the front of the hospital. The set of double doors leading inside were made of cold steel, and the only windows on it were near the top, with bars over them on the inside.  
  
Johnny pulled the door open, and the hinges squealed in protest, showing their age with the amount of rust on them. The three went inside, only to find themselves in a small room that, even with only three people in there, felt claustrophobic. The room was very small with sterile white walls, and linoleum flooring. There was a small receptionist window to their left and a door straight ahead, but that was all that was in the room.  
  
Leading his friends over to the window, Johnny pressed a little button on the counter, and through the window, he could hear a buzz, signaling to whoever was inside of their presence. After a minute of waiting, a portly old woman came over to the window, looking at them quizzically.  
  
"Can I help you?" she asked.  
  
"My name's John Smith," the blonde said to the receptionist. "I'm here to see Jessica Richardson."  
  
The woman leaned over and grabbed a book off of the counter, glancing over the page it was open to before looking back up at him.  
  
"Do you have an appointment?"  
  
"No," he replied. "I'm an old school friend of hers. I just wanted to see how she was doing."  
  
"I see," the nurse replied. "I'll have to get her doctor. Wait here please."  
  
With that said, the woman left, leaving the three friends crowded in the small room alone.  
  
"Nice lie," Dana said, smirking at Johnny. "I think I'm starting to rub off on you."  
  
"I figured 'I'm a psychic, and some guy sent me Jessica's picture, so I need to see her to figure out why' wouldn't work," Johnny replied.  
  
There was a buzz at the door leading into the hospital, indicating it was open, so Bruce reached over and opened it. He held it open as Johnny and Dana went through first, then he followed closely behind them. The three walked into a hallway that seemed to stretch out for miles in front of them, but with the long expanse of white walls, it was hard to tell how long the hall really was.  
  
There was a short man approaching them wearing a white lab jacket. He stood at a little more than five and a half feet tall with short dark brown hair that had begun receding and had started to turn gray in places. He wore small round frames that slid down his nose, but he pushed them back up before he greeted the trio.  
  
"Hello," the man said. "I'm Dr. Simmons. I'm Jessica's doctor."  
  
"Hi," Johnny greeted him.  
  
The man reached out to shake, and Johnny took his hand somewhat reluctantly. As soon as Johnny took his hand, he was consumed by the darkness that had gripped him hours ago. He fought every impulse to scream at the top of his lungs, willing his body not to seize like it had done that morning. He could hear the voices all around him, unable to make out their words, but overpowered by their volume. Just as Johnny thought he couldn't hold back his scream of panic anymore, the doctor release his hand and he was transported back to the sterile confines of the hospital hallway.  
  
Bruce looked at him knowingly, a look of concern in his eyes, but Johnny replied with a silent reassuring glance.  
  
"I've been told you're here to see Jessica," the doctor continued, unaware of the silent conversation between the two friends. "I'm afraid that won't be possible."  
  
"Why's that?" Johnny asked, trying to shake off the feeling the image had given him.  
  
"She's in no shape for visitors. Unfortunately, she hasn't been for years," the doctor said sadly.  
  
"I see."  
  
"I am a bit curious, however," the doctor continued, casting a suspicious look in their direction. "She's been here for years. Why wait so long to come see her?"  
  
"I was a bit incapacitated myself," Johnny replied truthfully.  
  
"Oh?" the doctor asked, definitely wanting more information.  
  
"I was in a car accident and in a coma for several years," the blonde told him.  
  
"I see," Dr. Simmons said. Johnny studied his face for several moments, hoping that the story of his coma and subsequent events had not reached the doctor, and seeing the blank look on his face, Johnny figured he was safe.  
  
Dr. Simmons' eyes then moved to the rest of the group, and Johnny waved a hand at each of them, introducing them.  
  
"These are my friends, Bruce and Dana," he said.  
  
"I know you," Dr Simmons spat at Dana, his glare shooting daggers in her direction. "You're Dana Bright from the newspaper. What kind of stunt are you trying to pull here?"  
  
The doctor looked at all of them with anger and distrust, taking a step back. He waited for an explanation, but by the look on his face, it was obvious that he didn't care to hear it.  
  
"We're not here from the paper," Johnny told him, hoping he sounded reassuring. "I'm here to find out how Jessica is doing. I'm only concerned for her health."  
  
"So you bring a reporter with you," he replied, crossing his arms in defiance.  
  
"Dana is here as a friend, not a reporter."  
  
"That's what they all say."  
  
"Look," Dana interrupted, causing both of them to look at her again. "I can see my presence here isn't helping, so I'll leave. I assure you, doctor, I'm not here to do a story on Jessica. That's old news, no offense. But if my presence bothers you that much, I'll go."  
  
Dana took a step towards Johnny under the watchful eye of Dr. Simmons, and leaned over so she could whisper to him without the doctor overhearing.  
  
"I'll go into town and see what else I can find on her."  
  
Johnny nodded at her before Dana headed back out the door after the nurse released the lock. Johnny and Bruce looked back at the doctor, hoping that would alleviate some of his concern, but they could still see the suspicion in his eyes.  
  
"I assure you doctor, we're not here on a story."  
  
"And why should I believe you?"  
  
"Because it's the truth," Johnny replied, ignoring how cliché the response was. He hoped it would be enough to convince the doctor.  
  
Dr. Simmons studied Bruce and Johnny closely, squinting his eyes as if that would reveal the truth to him. The three stood in silence for a moment, and Johnny and Bruce exchanged glances as the doctor seemed to make his decision.  
  
"Why are you here?" asked Dr. Simmons, not bothering to keep his suspicion concealed.  
  
"I told you," Johnny replied with sincerity. "I'm here to find out about Jessica's condition."  
  
"If I tell you, and I'm not saying I'm going to," he quickly added, "I don't want to see a story printed on her. If I see so much as her name mentioned in the papers, I'll sue all of you for everything you have for invasion of privacy and for libel."  
  
"No need for threats, sir," Bruce spoke up for the first time. "We're not interested in making more trouble for Jessica. She's been through more than enough in her lifetime."  
  
After another minute of silent scrutiny, Dr. Simmons waved Johnny and Bruce to follow him down the hall.  
  
"Let's go talk in my office." 


	6. Chapter 6

Johnny and Bruce followed Dr. Simmons down to the end of the corridor and turned right, leading down another white, empty hallway. Johnny glanced around at the blank walls, listening to their footsteps echoing off the walls. Johnny was a bit unsettled by the sterility of his surroundings, but he wasn't sure if it was this particular hospital or hospitals in general that made him uneasy.  
  
The doctor led Johnny and Bruce to a small wood door with a large window in the center. At first glance, Johnny thought it was frosted glass, but upon closer inspection he realized it was made of plastic. Glass in a mental hospital could be dangerous. Dr. R. Simmons, M.D. was inscribed on the door in black block lettering.  
  
Dr. Simmons opened the door then held an arm out indicating to Bruce and Johnny that they should enter the room first. Johnny went in followed closely by Bruce, and the doctor closed the door after he followed them inside.  
  
"Please sit," Dr. Simmons told them, waving briefly at two chairs in the room.  
  
Johnny glanced around the office as he mad his way to his seat, taking in the surroundings. Unlike the rest of the hospital that seemed to lack any color, the doctor's office was the opposite. The rug was a plush blue, accented by pale yellow walls. There was a large oak desk in front of clear windows that covered the entire back all of the office, giving them a view of the trees lining the back of the hospital property. There were a few pictures scattered on the window frame behind the desk, and high on the wall to the right were diplomas and school credentials.  
  
Johnny and Bruce sat in chairs facing the desk while Dr. Simmons made his way around to the other side. He sat down in a large brown leather chair, and the chair squeaked in protest under his weight. He leaned back, earning another squeal from the hinges of the chair, and folding his fingers together in front of him.  
  
"So," he finally said. "Why are you really here? I want the truth."  
  
"Like I said before," Johnny answered, "we're here to see how Jessica is doing."  
  
After another agonizing minute of silence, the doctor seemed to finally accept that answer or he at least gave up on getting a different one, because his shoulders seemed to slouch in resignation.  
  
"She's doing as well as can be expected," he finally replied.  
  
"And that means what?" Bruce prodded.  
  
"Meaning she hasn't has any violent episodes recently."  
  
"Does she have them often?"  
  
"I'm really not at liberty to discuss the details of her case. She may be clinically insane, but she still has a right to privacy. I don't want to lose my license because of breaching doctor-patient privilege," Dr. Simmons told them.  
  
"Of course," Johnny responded. "We're not trying to pry, but we're just concerned for her well-being."  
  
"There's no need for concern, Mr. Smith."  
  
"Johnny," Johnny corrected him.  
  
"Johnny," the doctor echoed, continuing. "Jessica is being well cared for here. All of our patients are, but Jessica especially."  
  
"Why is that?" Bruce asked.  
  
"Jess's parents were good friends of mine. I went to school with her mother, Lillah. We were both studying psychology at Harvard when she met Michael, her husband and Jessica's father. She decided to put her schooling on hold to get married and start a family. Little did she know that her psychology degree could have come in handy in helping Jessica."  
  
Dr. Simmons shifted in his chair and sighed heavily. He folded and unfolded his hands, shifting his gaze from Johnny and Bruce momentarily. Johnny got the impression that his mind was miles away from the office at that moment.  
  
"When was Jessica diagnosed as schizophrenic?" Johnny interrupted his thoughts.  
  
"When she was fifteen," he answered, snapping his mind back to the confines of the office.  
  
"And she was taking medication?"  
  
"Yes, and that seemed to work for a while. I didn't know there was a problem until that day. Since then, she hasn't been the same," the doctor explained.  
  
"She hasn't responded to any other treatments at all?" Bruce inquired.  
  
"Unfortunately, no."  
  
"What medication is she on?"  
  
"I'm sorry, gentlemen," Dr. Simmons said, rising from his chair. "We're walking on thin ice here. I've said more than I should. I must look out for Jessica's privacy."  
  
Bruce scooted forward in his chair, opening his mouth to protest, but Johnny put a hand out to stop him and spoke first.  
  
"We understand," Johnny replied, rising from his chair as well. Bruce followed suit, giving his friend a quizzical look.  
  
Dr. Simmons reached across the desk to shake John's hand and the psychic reluctantly took it, fearing the vision that would follow.  
  
Johnny was surprised when the darkness did not consume him. Instead, he was transported to a large, white, Victorian-style house with a yard full of grass greener than any he had ever seen. He could hear birds chirping from trees that seemed to surround the house, and they swayed gently in a warm breeze that rattled the leaves slightly. John walked up to the front of the house, admiring the beautiful wrap around porch despite the fact the paint had begun to peel in places.  
  
Just as Johnny began ascending the creaky wooden stairs to the porch, a young girl of about four or five with waist long dirty blonde hair came running through the door at him, arms outstretched and a large dimpled smile on her face.  
  
"Uncle Bobbie!" she cried.  
  
Johnny opened his arms to catch her, but right before the girl reached him, he was violently thrust back into the present of the doctor's office. Dr. Simmons was looking at him curiously, as was Bruce, but he knew it was for two different reasons.  
  
"Are you all right, Mr. Smith?" the doctor asked.  
  
"I'm fine," Johnny replied, smiling at him in hopes he would believe it. "Just feeling a little tired."  
  
"Ah," Dr. Simmons replied, returning a smile of understanding. "I know the feeling."  
  
"Thank you for taking time to talk to us," Johnny said. "I don't suppose there is any chance we'd be able to see Jessica, is there?"  
  
"As I said earlier, I'm afraid she's in no shape for visitors."  
  
"I don't necessarily mean visit with her, but I would really like to see her. See what type of conditions she's been living with," Johnny continued.  
  
Dr. Simmons opened his mouth to speak, and by the look on his face, Johnny was sure he was going to reject them again, but he closed it again. He looked back and forth between Johnny and Bruce for a moment and sighed before speaking.  
  
"I don't see what harm it can do. Besides, if it turns out you are from the paper, you'll see how well we're taking care of her. This way, please." 


	7. Chapter 7

Johnny and Bruce were again following the doctor through the hallways of the hospital. As they followed the doctor down a maze of hallways, something occurred to him.  
  
"Doctor, where are all the patients?"  
  
Dr. Simmons stopped and turned around, looking at the two of them. He didn't look surprised by the question, but sighed before responding.  
  
"We're a hospital for the criminally insane," he began, rolling his eyes slightly. "We don't let them wander around. The front of the building is our offices, so we keep the patients at the rear of the facility. It also reduces the chance of someone breaking out. If they get through the doors, they only manage to get into our offices, not out of the building."  
  
"Why not put a fence around the front of the building?"  
  
"The community is unhappy enough with us as it is. If we start putting fences up, people are going to feel insecure about our being here. Fences mean escape attempts, which we've had none, so why upset the status quo we have? Now, if I've answered your questions, let's continue. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can get back to my patients."  
  
Dr. Simmons spun around on the heel of his shoe, letting out a huff of frustration. Johnny and Bruce glanced at each other and shrugged simultaneously.  
  
"I don't know about you," Bruce whispered, glancing at Dr. Simmons's back, "but I would feel more secure in the neighborhood if a fence was up around this place."  
  
"You and me both," Johnny agreed before continuing after the doctor.  
  
The duo followed the doctor through the maze of white corridors and soon Johnny couldn't remember which way was which. He realized that even if a patient did get this far in escaping, he probably wouldn't be able to navigate the white halls, since one looked just like any other.  
  
They approached another barred door like the one that blocked off the entrance, and Dr. Simmons pushed the button of a little intercom box to the right of the door.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"It's Dr. Simmons. I'm bringing two gentlemen in with me for a brief visit."  
  
There was no vocal response from the intercom, but the lock on the door buzzed briefly before Dr. Simmons opened the door. He held it open for Johnny and Bruce to enter before him, and the two did, but waited on the other side for the doctor to lead the way.  
  
Johnny heard voices behind him and turned around, seeing a small group of men sitting in what looked like a common room. There were frosted windows that let in some light, but obscured a view of the outside world.  
  
They all wore the same clothes, light blue pants with white shirts, and Johnny guessed that was the clothing issued to all of the patients. Two of the four men he saw were huddled on opposite ends of a small couch, their eyes transfixed on the television, the source of the voices Johnny heard. By the look in their eyes, they weren't really paying attention to what was on the screen. Another man was sitting on the floor, drawing on a piece of paper with a crayon, and the fourth man was walking across the room with the help of a petite nurse dressed in white.  
  
She appeared to be about 5'2" with brown hair pulled up into a tight ponytail. The man towered over her, but seemed more fragile than she was. He leaned to the right as he walked, taking small, careful steps. She whispered something to him, and by the look on her face, Johnny guessed it was words of encouragement, but he couldn't hear exactly what she said.  
  
"This way," Dr. Simmons said, and Johnny turned around to see him and Bruce several steps ahead of him, heading down another blank looking hallway.  
  
As the blond followed the other two, he began feeling a bit claustrophobic. The atmosphere seemed to suffocate him, and he wondered how patients must feel.  
  
"This is it," the shorter man said, gesturing to a door on his left.  
  
He stopped in front of it, but didn't move to open it, so Johnny knew this was as far as they were allowed to go. Dr. Simmons stood back, but waved towards the small window on the door, encouraging Johnny and Bruce to look inside. The two friends looked in the window that was at their eye level, but only about one square foot in size.  
  
The room was just as sterile looking as the rest of the hospital, and that didn't surprise either of them. The walls and floor were padded with a creamy color material, and a small bed was tucked into left hand corner. Florescent lighting gave the room an eerie glow, and the light reflecting off all of the white began to give Johnny a headache. In the far right corner, there was a small figure curled up in the fetal position that if they hadn't been looking for her, they might have overlooked.  
  
Jessica was wearing light blue hospital scrub-type pants and a loose white shirt, exactly the same thing the men in the common room had been wearing. Her long sandy hair, that looked slightly oily from lack of washing, hung down, concealing her face from view. She didn't move for several seconds, but then rocked slightly, hugging her knees up to her chest. Once she was tightly wound into that position, she stopped moving again.  
  
"Is she always in there?" Bruce asked. "Is she allowed out?"  
  
"Of course," Dr. Simmons answered. "However, we've had to limit her time with other patients. She seems to get overly emotional when around lots of people."  
  
"Overly emotional?"  
  
"She doesn't respond well to crowds and acts out. We've been trying different methods to help her socialize, but nothing seems to be working."  
  
"Is the room always that well lit?" Johnny asked.  
  
Dr. Simmons gave him a quizzical look but answered anyway. "Yes. She screams if we turn off the lights, so we keep them on all the time."  
  
Johnny looked into the room again, but Jessica hadn't moved from her spot in the corner. He sighed quietly to himself, still not understanding why he was there or what he was supposed to do. He could feel Bruce's questioning eyes on his back, but he had no answers for his friend. Johnny slowly reached out for the door of her room, his hand shaking in anticipation.  
  
Johnny was thrown back into the darkness that he had already experienced twice that day, but this time, a sense of fear filled his body. He felt scared, trapped. The world was crashing around him, suffocating him. He was dying. The loud voices swirled around him, still making no coherent words.  
  
He tried to keep his body under control, but even that seemed to be beyond him. His body wouldn't move, and that just added to the terror. His breathing became faster and more panicked, and his body shook spasmodically. Johnny tried to hold back a scream, telling himself over and over that it was only a vision.  
  
Suddenly a bright light appeared in front of Johnny, causing him to look away. Once his eyes adjusted to the invading light, he looked back towards it, squinting. Panic rose in his throat as he looked at the figure looming over him.  
  
The light came from a doorway that framed a gigantic figure that towered over him, seeming at least eight feet tall. A huge monster filled the doorway, and Johnny made out four arms stretching out from its massive bulk. Johnny could no longer control the panic that filled him, and he let out a primal scream of terror.  
  
Instantly, he was thrown back to the sterile hallway of the hospital, vaguely feeling Bruce's hand ripping him away from the door of Jessica's room. The scream died in Johnny's throat, but his rapid breathing continued, his chest heaving in an attempt to get it under control.  
  
"Johnny, speak to me, man," Bruce said, trying to get his friend to look him in the eye.  
  
"What is going on here?" Dr. Simmons asked, but his demand went unnoticed.  
  
"Johnny, you okay?" Bruce asked.  
  
"I'm okay," Johnny panted, his breathing finally returning to normal.  
  
The doctor looked at them both and crossed his arms, glaring at them.  
  
"I think it's best if you two leave immediately."  
  
Bruce gave Johnny another concerned look, and his friend nodded in response that he was all right. Dr. Simmons gave them one last scowl of disapproval before leading them back through the hospital. Johnny followed him with Bruce close by his side, worry still evident in his dark eyes. The nurse in the common room looked over at them curiously as they walked by, obviously having heard Johnny's scream. Dr. Simmons waved her away, and she returned to her duties, but not without giving them one more look.  
  
Dr. Simmons led them to the entrance of the hospital, and didn't leave until he heard the slam of the front door behind them as they left. Before returning to his desk, he turned to the secretary in the booth by the door.  
  
"I want you to find out everything you can about Johnny Smith. There's something more going on here, and I want to know what it is." 


	8. Chapter 8

Johnny could feel the adrenaline slowly loosen its grip on his body as Bruce guided him out the front door of the hospital. The shaking had slowed to be almost undetectable, so he was finally able to lean on his cane rather than relying on Bruce. He gave his friend a small nod to lat him know he was fine to walk on his own, so Bruce reluctantly released Johnny's arm.  
  
"So what the hell happened in there, Johnny?" Bruce asked as soon as they were down the front steps. "And don't even try to give me that 'Nothing, I'm fine' answer that you're so fond of."  
  
"That was going to be my answer. Have I really become that predictable?" Johnny joked, hoping to alleviate the grim expression on Bruce's face. Bruce didn't smile, only fixed his friend with a disapproving glare.  
  
Johnny took the hint. "It's hard to say. Where to start?"  
  
"You could start with why you were screaming bloody murder as soon as you touched that door. What did you see?"  
  
"It was the same as this morning. But more."  
  
Johnny stopped to think about how to phrase it so Bruce would understand, but the words seemed to escape him. Somewhere between his mind and his mouth, the words were getting lost, and Bruce was getting impatient.  
  
"Care to elaborate?"  
  
"It was the same as this morning," Johnny began. "The darkness, the cold, it was all the same. The voices were all around me, but there was something else. It was really confining. I felt trapped, like the world was collapsing down on me and there was no way out.  
  
"Wow."  
  
"That's not the best part," Johnny continued. "Then a door opened in front of me, blinding me. I looked up, and there was a huge monster standing there."  
  
There was a moment of silence before Bruce spoke with skepticism saturating his voice. "A monster?"  
  
"I don't write the visions, I just interpret them," Johnny said, raising his hands in innocence.  
  
"Could this vision have some symbolic meaning?"  
  
"It's possible, but if it is symbolic, I have no idea what it means."  
  
"Of course you don't because that would make this a whole lot easier."  
  
"Hey, I've got an idea," Johnny said. "How about you have the visions and I'll be the sarcastic, smart aleck, tag along this time around?"  
  
"Someone's touchy," Bruce chuckled.  
  
Johnny opened his mouth to counter with a wise retort, but stopped when he was a familiar convertible pulling into the long hospital driveway. Dana parked her car next to the two and stepped out. By the slight smile on her face, Johnny knew her trip had been productive.  
  
"Have fun in town?" Johnny asked as she approached them.  
  
"Tons," she replied with a grin. "You?"  
  
"We had a great time," Bruce jumped in. "Johnny was having visions about monsters, and he got us kicked out."  
  
"Monsters?" Dana asked, casting Johnny a questioning look.  
  
"It's a long story," Johnny replied, then quickly changed the subject. "What'd you find?"  
  
Dana noticed the obvious change of subject, but figured now wasn't the time to push. "I found where her old house is, and where her aunt and uncle are living here in Bangor."  
  
"You've been busy in the short time you've been gone," Bruce said.  
  
"I know how to make use of the time I have."  
  
"What's the uncle's name?" Johnny asked.  
  
Dana pulled her small notepad out of her pocket and flipped through a few pages before she found the answered she was seeking. "Alex Desmond. Why do you ask?"  
  
"Another vision. I'll explain later."  
  
"So what's the game plan, team?" Bruce asked.  
  
"Well, since being here is kind of shot, let's go visit the aunt and uncle. She was Jessica's mother's sister, and she and her husband were the most vocal in trying to get the money from Jessica, so I figure they'd be a good place to start," Dana told them.  
  
"Sounds good to me," Johnny said. "Let's hope they can give us some answers without giving us more questions."  
  
* * *  
  
Dana led the way into the center of Bangor. Johnny watched out the window of Bruce's PT Cruiser as the small shops that occupied the streets cruised past. While Bangor was a city by Maine's standards, it was still small and sleepy. The streets were basically empty except for the occasional shopper.  
  
Dana continued through Bangor's center to the north, leaving the commercial part of the town to the residential. Bruce stuck close to Dana's bumper even though he could've left half a mile between them and still be able to follow, there was so little traffic.  
  
Bruce kept his eyes on the road and very little conversation was exchanged between him and Johnny. For that, Johnny was grateful. The more he thought about it, the less sense his vision made. Trying to explain it to Bruce made it even harder to interpret, so he was happy to have the time to himself to think. Johnny sighed in frustration which caused Bruce to glance in his direction.  
  
"Was that an 'ask me what's wrong' sigh, or a 'leave me alone' sigh?"  
  
Johnny chuckled. "Neither. More of a 'why can't I figure this out' sigh."  
  
"Ah."  
  
A few minutes later, Dana pulled down a tree lined dirt road to the left and Bruce followed. The convertible kicked up a considerable amount of dust, obscuring Bruce's and Johnny's vision. Through the haze, Bruce saw Dana's yellow blinker flash on the right, then the glaring red of her brake lights as she pulled off the road.  
  
Bruce pulled over and parked his car behind hers as Dana climbed out of her car. The two friends got out of the car as the cloud of dust settled around them. Johnny brushed the dirt off of his black leather jacket before walking over to Dana's car where the redhead stood waiting.  
  
"This is it," she told them, waving a hand at the split level ranch across the dirt road.  
  
"Not too shabby," Bruce commented at the nicely painted light blue house.  
  
Johnny glanced around at the neighborhood, finally able to get a good look now that the dust had finally fallen from the air. It was a very quiet road lined with mostly maple trees. Spring had just begun to touch the branches, sprinkling them with green buds.  
  
Johnny turned around, surprised to see a very familiar white, Victorian- style house behind him. There was a black wrought-iron fence surrounding what he guessed to be at least two acres of land around the large two story house. There was a large black chain and lock holding together a large pair of gates that led to a winding driveway to the front of the house. A "for sale" sign was attached to the gate with a phone number on it, but no other information was available on the sign.  
  
"Is that-?" Johnny began to ask.  
  
"Yes," Dana answered, anticipating his question. "That's Jessica Richardson's house."  
  
"Creepy," Bruce commented.  
  
"The house has been for sale since the family was killed, but no one has bought it. Local rumors say it's haunted," Dana explained.  
  
"Haunted?"  
  
"So the urban legend says."  
  
"The yard is well kept," Johnny observed. "Someone's been caring for it."  
  
"The family kept the gardening staff on, hoping to sell the property, but no luck so far."  
  
"Is it the same staff the Richardsons had?"  
  
"Some," Dana replied. "A good portion of them left after what happened."  
  
"How do you find out this stuff?" Bruce asked incredulously.  
  
"I have my ways," Dana said with a knowing smirk. "I can be very persuasive when I want something."  
  
"So I've noticed," Bruce said, casting a glance as Johnny.  
  
"What?" the blond said innocently.  
  
"Nothing," Bruce smirked then turned back to Dana. "What do you have on this family?"  
  
"Her name is Laura, his is Alex. She is Lillah's baby sister. They moved here twelve years ago because Laura wanted to be closer to her sister. They're the ones that tried to get the estate from Jessica, but obviously failed in doing so."  
  
"You never cease to amaze me, Dana," Bruce said with a shake of his head.  
  
"I'm just doing what I'm good at," she replied.  
  
The two didn't notice Johnny as he walked past them up the cement walkway to the front door. He tried to think of what he was going to say to them, but nothing seemed to come to mind. He could hear birds chirping, but they seemed miles away. He concentrated on the quiet click of his cane against the cement as he ascended the stairs, hoping that the steady beat would steady his thoughts. He barely heard Bruce and Dana come up the stairs behind him.  
  
Finally, Johnny took a deep breath and knocked. 


	9. Chapter 9

Johnny waited at the door for several minutes and was about to knock again when he saw movement in the window to his left. He saw the curtain swing closed meaning someone had been watching them. He waited for another few seconds before he heard the lock being unlatched. The door opened a crack, barely allowing Johnny to see a face peering out at him.  
  
"We're not interested in buying anything," a gruff male voice said.  
  
"We're not interested in selling you anything," Johnny replied. "Are you Alex Desmond?"  
  
"Depends on who you are," the man replied suspiciously.  
  
"My name's Johnny Smith."  
  
There was a moment of silence then the door opened a little more, revealing a tall, lean man with short salt and pepper colored hair. He looked to be at least fifty years old, with dark serious eyes and a grimace that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face.  
  
"So what do you want?" he asked, his eyes narrowed into slits. The man glanced at Bruce and Dana then returned his attention to Johnny.  
  
"We were hoping to talk to you and your wife," Johnny replied.  
  
"About what?"  
  
"Your niece, Jessica."  
  
To Johnny's surprise, the grimace on the man's face seemed to increase, and his eyes narrowed even more. His face seemed to turn slightly red in color, and Johnny realized this was going to be a lot harder than he had imagined.  
  
"Who's at the door, Alex?" a woman's voice asked from behind Mr. Desmond.  
  
"No one," he called back over his shoulder.  
  
"Then who are you talking to?" she asked as she walked up behind him. The woman pushed past the man at the door, showing her to be a much shorter, but slim, woman. She stood about five feet tall with short red hair in slight disarray. She had warm, inviting green eyes and when she smiled to greet them, she had dimples on each side.  
  
"Just go back inside," Mr. Desmond said.  
  
"Nonsense," she said, waving a dismissive hand at him then turning her attention to Johnny. "Hi, I'm Laura Desmond."  
  
"Johnny Smith," he said, nodding at her in greeting, hoping to avoid a handshake.  
  
"You look familiar," the woman said, tilting her head as if that would make her remember why. Suddenly, her eyes lit up in surprise. "You're that boy from Cleaves Mills. The one who as the visions. I've seen you in the papers."  
  
Johnny nodded reluctantly. "That's me."  
  
"What brings you to Bangor?"  
  
"Jessica," her husband answered with a snap.  
  
The woman's smile faded slightly. "Oh. What about her?"  
  
"That's what we're trying to figure out," Johnny replied. "Someone sent me something about her, but didn't say why or what I was supposed to be looking for, so we're here trying to find out about her."  
  
The older couple regarded the three visitors for several seconds. They glanced at each other, and while Alex's face straightforwardly told Johnny their presence was not welcome, Laura's looked more open.  
  
"Please come in," Laura said finally. "I'll make us some coffee, and we can talk."  
  
~~  
  
"You have a very lovely home, Mrs. Desmond," Johnny commented as the older woman poured coffee into the white mug on the table in front of him.  
  
"Thank you," she replied, a smile of pride briefly appearing on her face.  
  
The group sat in the Desmonds' dining room, each with a steaming cup of coffee in front of them. Laura Desmond returned to the kitchen through a swinging door that squeaked in protest as she pushed through it. Alex Desmond sat at the head of the table with a disapproving look on his face. Johnny opened his mouth to engage the man in conversation, but the glare in Mr. Desmond's eyes told Johnny it was a bad idea, so he let his eyes wander around the room instead.  
  
It was decorated simply, but elegantly with white lace curtains and table covered accenting the darkly stained table and chairs. A large china cabinet filled with plates and glasses sat in the corner of the room, and the hardwood floor was recently polished.  
  
Mrs. Desmond came back into the room with a mug in her hands, taking a seat next to her husband. Johnny sat at the other end of the table with Dana and Bruce flanking him on either side.  
  
"So what exactly about Jessica did you want to know?" she asked tentatively.  
  
"As much as you're willing to tell us, Mrs. Desmond," Johnny replied.  
  
"Laura, please," she said.  
  
"Laura," Johnny repeated.  
  
"Who sent you something on her?" Mr. Desmond spoke up, his voice laced with suspicion and his arms crossed tightly across his chest.  
  
"We don't know."  
  
"You don't know?"  
  
"It was sent to Johnny anonymously," Bruce said. "We've been trying to figure that out as well as why it was sent."  
  
"Well, we didn't send it," the man snapped. "So why bother us?"  
  
"Alex, be nice," his wife scolded him.  
  
"Why should I?" Mr. Desmond snapped. "They come knocking on our door uninvited, waiting to know about our personal business, and I should be nice?"  
  
"Alex!"  
  
"No, Laura," he said, rising from his chair. "You can sit here and talk to these people if you want because you've seen his picture in those stupid papers, but I want nothing to do with it. I washed my hands of this a long time ago."  
  
With that, Mr. Desmond grabbed his coffee and stormed out of the room. Mrs. Desmond followed him with her eyes before turning back to the other three.  
  
"I'm sorry about my husband. This has all been hard on the both of us. He was good friends with Mike, Jessica's father," she explained.  
  
"No need to apologize," Johnny told her. "We understand this isn't easy, but we greatly appreciate your taking time to talk to us."  
  
"Thank you," she said. "Alex has been angry about this for a long time. He was the one that pushed for the lawsuits, not me."  
  
"You didn't want to sue Jessica?" Dana asked, moving forward in her seat in interest.  
  
"Not at all," the woman replied. "Jessica is the only family I have left. Yes, I was upset about what happened, but family is more important to me than money."  
  
"But not your husband?" Dana prodded.  
  
"No, that's not it at all. Alex blamed Jessica for what happened. He doesn't understand that she's ill. It's hard for him to get closure without someone being held accountable."  
  
"Laura, do you have any idea why someone would send Jessica's picture to me?" Johnny asked.  
  
"No," she answered, shifting in her chair and turning her coffee mug in her hands. "Her parents' death was open and shut. She's been locked up ever since."  
  
"Could someone think she's innocent?"  
  
"I don't see how. She had the weapon in her hand when the police arrived. They told me that- that she was ripping it from my sister's body when they walked in."  
  
Mrs. Desmond's voice began to crack, and she held up a hand at her guests to indicate she needed a moment to compose herself. She wiped away a stray tear that began running down her cheek. Bruce grabbed a tissue from a nearby box and handed it to her.  
  
"Thank you," she said, wiping her eyes and nose. "You'd think after all this time, it would be easier, but it's not."  
  
"It's okay," Johnny tried to comfort her. "Take your time."  
  
Laura sniffled and wiped her nose again, taking a few deep breaths. After a few minutes, she seemed calmer and nodded at Johnny that she was ready to continue.  
  
"Did Jessica have any uncles aside from your husband?" Johnny asked. Bruce and Dana looked at him quizzically, wondering where this question was going.  
  
"No," she replied, an equally confused look on her face. "Lillah and I were my parents' only children, and Mike was an only child. Why?"  
  
"She didn't have an Uncle Bobby?"  
  
"No," she answered, her eyebrows creased in confusion. Suddenly, the question seemed to make sense and her face lit up. "But that's what she called Robert Simmons, her doctor. He and my sister were good friends, so she called him Uncle Bobby. Is that important?"  
  
"No, but it makes sense to me now," Johnny replied, shrugging off the curious looks from his companions.  
  
"Who controls the Richardson estate while Jessica is in the hospital?" Dana jumped in.  
  
"I'm not sure," she replied. "I've tried to distance myself from that information. I really don't want to know. Alex probably knows."  
  
"But I doubt he would be willing to give us that information," the redhead sighed.  
  
"I wouldn't count on it. I love him, but he's a stubborn man."  
  
"Who would know?"  
  
"Probably Doug Carlisle, Jessica's lawyer. He was the executor of the state at the time of their death, so I would assume he would know."  
  
"Thank you," the redhead replied, making note of the name.  
  
"Laura," Mr. Desmond interrupted, stepping into the room. "We have to go if we're going to make those dinner reservations at five."  
  
Laura looked at her husband, then back at her guests, as if debating on who she should go with. Her husband gave her a pleading look, so she sighed and rose from her chair.  
  
"I'm sorry, but we really must be going. It was very nice talking with you, and if we can be of any further assistance, please let us know."  
  
"Thank you for your time," Johnny said, rising from his chair with Bruce and Dana doing the same.  
  
The couple led the others to the door, said brief goodbyes then sent them on their way. Johnny briefly looked back at the house as the door closed, and he saw Laura look out the window at them. He smiled at her and nodded, hoping that she would understand he was grateful for her time. She returned the smile then let the curtain fall over the window, obscuring her from his view.  
  
"Now what?" Bruce asked as they reached his car.  
  
"I guess we go talk to the lawyer," Johnny said.  
  
"Johnny," Bruce sighed, leaning against the driver's side door, "did you ever think that we're wasting our time? I don't mean to be a pessimist-"  
  
"Yet you do it so well," Dana interrupted.  
  
Bruce fixed her with an irritated glance before looking back at Johnny. "We barely have any information about what's going on here. Hell, we don't even know what we're looking for. Maybe someone is just messing with you."  
  
"Why would they do that?"  
  
"Because you're a celebrity. There are weird people out there that get off on making the famous miserable. Maybe someone just wanted confirmation that the girl is crazy and isn't just faking it. For all we know, those people sent the picture to you," Bruce continued, pointing back at the Desmonds' house.  
  
"I don't think they did."  
  
"But you don't know for sure. Johnny, I know you're all for helping people, and I'll always be there to help you out, but this one is going nowhere. We're snooping in these people's lives for no reason."  
  
"For once," Dana said, "Bruce and I agree on something."  
  
"There is a reason, or else someone wouldn't have sent me that picture," Johnny argued.  
  
Bruce sighed. "Well, if that person wants your help so much, maybe he should've specified what he wanted. You shouldn't have to go around guessing what these people want."  
  
"You guys really want to give this up?"  
  
"Yeah, John. I think you've done what you can, but until this person comes forward and links everything together, you shouldn't get yourself so deep into these people's lives."  
  
Johnny looked back and forth between them, knowing that no matter what he said, he'd lost this battle. He slowly nodded his head, and sighed.  
  
"Maybe you're right. Let's go home."  
  
Johnny walked around to the other side of the PT Cruiser while Dana walked over to her convertible. Bruce hopped in the driver's seat as Johnny reached his car door, and as Johnny grabbed the handle, his senses were overtaken once again.  
  
He saw himself, standing next to Bruce's car. Johnny knew who was watching. The man who sent the picture was watching them from across the street. Once the vision ended, Johnny's head shot up, glancing around for the man. There was a dense collection of trees where Johnny thought he saw the man. He squinted, hoping that would help him see better, then he let go of the door and walked towards the trees.  
  
"Johnny, where are you going?" Bruce asked, sticking his head out the window.  
  
Johnny walked over to the edge of the trees, reaching out and touching one. The man was gone.  
  
"Nowhere," Johnny replied, glancing into woods just in case.  
  
He turned around and went back to Bruce's car, getting in the passenger side door.  
  
"What was that?" Bruce asked.  
  
"Nothing," Johnny replied. "I thought I saw something."  
  
"Probably just an animal," his friend said as he started the car and pulled away, heading back towards Cleaves Mills.  
  
"Yeah, probably," Johnny echoed, knowing that wasn't it at all.  
  
"I think it's best we just go home and forget about this," Bruce said after a few miles of silence. "If the guy really wants your help, he'll contact you."  
  
"Yeah," Johnny said vacantly, not really hearing what Bruce was saying. He had no intention of letting this go. He knew there was something more here he needed to see, and he wasn't going to give up until he found out exactly what it was. 


	10. Chapter 10

A few hours later, Johnny walked into his house, closing the door behind him. Bruce had taken him to dinner then dropped him off, the entire time convincing him to forget about the picture and Jessica Richardson. It wasn't worth getting all worked up over, he had said. Johnny wasn't entirely convinced of that.  
  
Looking at the small table by the door, Johnny saw the discarded mail from that morning, and on top of it, the photograph that had started this all. He stared at it for a long time, as if the picture could tell him what he needed to know. Nothing seemed to be connecting, and he didn't even know what he was supposed to find. He knew just as much now as he had earlier that morning. What was he supposed to be seeing?  
  
Johnny hesitantly reached for the photograph, wondering if he should risk another intense vision in order to determine what was going on. With all of the small pieces he had, Johnny felt like he was trying to put a jigsaw puzzle together without knowing what the final picture looked like. He needed to know more, but at the same time, he wasn't sure he could handle more.  
  
His head hurt.  
  
Johnny let his hand hover over the crumpled picture, his mind in a constant debate of whether or not to touch it. Would it accomplish anything? If he had another vision like he'd had many times today, would it overwhelm him? Bruce wasn't here to pull him out, so it seemed risky. Maybe he could control it. What if he couldn't? His dead zone had a mind of its own, so to speak, and sometimes no matter what he wanted, his brain would do something else.  
  
"Maybe I'll get some sleep first," he said aloud, hoping that hearing his own voice would convince himself. "Get a fresh start in the morning."  
  
Johnny stood there for several more minutes, his hand just inches away from the photograph. One touch, that's all it would take. Just one. His hand shook, the anticipation of the touch wreaking havoc on his nerves. Why was he hesitating?  
  
It's just a vision, he told himself mentally. You've had plenty of them before.  
  
But this one had been different. It was disturbing, and, he reluctantly admitted, a bit scary. And what did it mean? He still hadn't figured that out. Was this how Jessica saw the world? Was this a vision of her world? A glimpse into the mind of a schizophrenic was not pleasant, and not something he wanted to do. However, if he didn't touch the picture, he'd still be left with all of these pieces of a puzzle with no way to figure out how they go together.  
  
Why hadn't the man just given him instructions with the picture? Why hadn't he come forward? Johnny knew that the man had been watching them at the Desmond house. Who was he? Why was he hiding? Did he have something to hide, and therefore didn't want to come forward? Was Johnny being led on, becoming a pawn in this man's game?  
  
Johnny sighed in frustration. He'd been asking himself these questions all day, and he was no closer to answering them. Maybe Bruce was right. Maybe it was time to give this up.  
  
Johnny pulled his hand away from the picture, gave it one last glance before heading upstairs to his room. He changed into his pajamas, trying to rid his mind of any thoughts of Jessica Richardson. It proved to be harder than he thought. He kept going through everything over and over again, and as he lay down on his bed, he hoped sleep would come quickly to quiet his mind.  
  
It didn't.  
  
Johnny restlessly tossed and turned, trying his hardest to fall asleep, but nothing seemed to work. He tried clearing his mind, attempting some of that Zen stuff Bruce talked about constantly. He took deep breath after deep breath, but it didn't help relax him. He tried to concentrate on each body part, relaxing them one at a time as Bruce had taught him. Nothing.  
  
Sighing with frustration, Johnny kicked the blankets off and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He obviously wasn't going to get sleep tonight, so he thought he might as well do something productive with the time. He grabbed his cane from its perch next to his bed then stood up with a slight grunt of exertion. His leg throbbed, making Johnny well aware of its protests of being used so much today.  
  
Johnny slowly padded down the hallway and down the wooden stairs, the surface feeling cool against his bare feet, sending a slight chill up his spine. He turned on the table lamp in the front room by the door, glancing once again at the day's mail. He completely overlooked the bills, only concentrating on the picture. He stared at it for a long time, as if challenging it.  
  
"What am I supposed to see?!" he shouted at the picture.  
  
Before he could stop himself, Johnny reached forward and grabbed the picture tightly in his hand, and instantly he was overtaken with a vision. The darkness again, but different. It wasn't completely dark. Johnny looked up and saw stars. He was outside. A slightly cool breeze swept past his face while Johnny tried to take in his surroundings.  
  
He saw trees and a dirt road, very similar to the one the Desmonds lived on. Was it the same road? At night, everything looked different, and he couldn't tell. There were no street lights, no cars around, no distinguishing landmarks. Nothing that could tell him where he was or what he was looking at.  
  
Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder like a blade digging into his skin, and he cried out. Johnny whirled around to see his attacker, only to get backhanded across the face before he could see anything.  
  
He fell hard, hitting the ground with a loud thud. Johnny sat up quickly in order to see who had hit him, his breath coming in short gasps. Johnny looked around, only to see his house again. The picture was on the floor next to him, and his hand was open. The picture had fallen out of his hand. He looked at the picture quizzically, wondering what that vision meant. Another piece to add to the puzzle.  
  
He grabbed the picture again, hoping to go back to what he had seen, but nothing happened. Johnny tried shifting it around in his grip, but no visions came to him. He muttered a quiet curse under his breath then tossed the picture aside.  
  
Johnny slowly rose to his feet, grabbing the cane that had fallen next to him. He looked down at the picture, his brow creased in determination. He was still no closer to any answers, but Johnny was now determined to find out what all of this meant- or die trying. 


	11. Chapter 11

The next afternoon, Bruce pulled up in front of Johnny Smith's house and jumped out of his car.  He hoped that Johnny had forgotten about Jessica Richardson and everything surrounding her.  He felt a little bit guilty at deterring Johnny from doing anything more for this girl, but he felt the need to protect his friend.  Who knew what kind of people were out there that would take advantage of Johnny's power and good nature?

Bruce sighed then took the front steps two at a time before knocking on the door with three quick raps.  He expected to see Johnny's face peek through the door and protest at the being disturbed for physical therapy, as he usually did, but he never came to the door.  Bruce tried the knob.  The door was unlocked, so he stepped inside and called up the stairs.  Maybe he wasn't within earshot of the door.  Or maybe he was ignoring the door in order to avoid his physical therapy.

 "Yo, Johnny!" he called.

Only silence greeted Bruce's shout.  He sighed and shook his head, heading up the stairs to Johnny's room.

"C'mon Johnny," he said as he opened the bedroom door.  "I let you sleep in today, so you can't avoid me-"

The room was empty, and the bed was unmade.  Bruce didn't see Johnny's cane anywhere in the room, so that meant Johnny wasn't there.

"Huh," he said out loud then he went back downstairs to the kitchen.

No Johnny, but he saw a used coffee cup by the sink and a pot of coffee in the coffeemaker.  There was an envelope next to the pot with his name on it, so Bruce went over and opened it.

I_Hey Bruce,_

_I'm sorry I'm going to miss our daily routine of pain, but I can't let this go.  There's something here that we're not seeing, something that links all of what I've seen together.  Don't worry, you and Dana are off the hook.  I'll take it from here._

_Later,_

_Johnny_/I

"Damnit, Johnny."

~~

Johnny was already in Bangor long before Bruce arrived at his house.  He'd slept very little the night before, going over all of the visions again and again, but still seeing no way to tie them all together.  He stayed in bed as long as he could, hoping that he could get enough sleep to function, although he wasn't sure that he did.  He got up a little before noon, taking some time for a few cups of coffee and a shower before heading out towards Bangor.

His first stop was Doug Carlisle's office, which was easy to find on the main road leading through the center of Bangor.  

Johnny found a parking space for his jeep on curb across the street from the law office.   He got out of the jeep and walked across the street, and as he approached the building, he checked his watch and the sign on the door just to be sure that the office was open.  Opening the door, Johnny went inside to find a small comfortable looking room.  There was a small couch with a blue floral pattern to his right, under a window that gave a view of the street, masked by laced curtains.  There were several plants in every corner of the room, and opposite the couch was a small desk, unoccupied at the moment.

Johnny went over to the desk, and just as he reached it, a young woman walked through a door behind it, stopping short when she saw Johnny.  She was tall with a slender figure and long dark brown hair that reached nearly to her waist.  She shifted an armload of folders from her right arm to her left, and she regarded Johnny with a semi-suspicious look.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'd like to speak with Doug Carlisle," Johnny told her.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, but I was hoping I could just speak with him for a few minutes.  It shouldn't take long."

She dropped the folders on the desk in front of her before tossed her hair back over her shoulder that had fallen in her face.  "I can see if he has a moment, but he's a busy man."

"I understand," Johnny said.  "Any time he can give me would be greatly appreciated."

"What's your name?"

"Johnny Smith."

Johnny thought he saw a look of recognition in her eyes, but it quickly passed as she turned back towards the door behind her.  "Wait here, I'll be right back."

Johnny sat down on the couch by the window, trying to think of questions that he needed to ask, in hopes of finally figure out what he should be doing.  The door across the room opened again, and the woman stepped out, nodding at Johnny.

"Mr. Carlisle will see you now, Mr. Smith."

He rose from the couch and walked over to the door, nodding at her in thanks as he stepped through.  She closed the door behind him, leaving him in a small office with bookshelves lining walls both to his left and right.  There was a small desk in front of him with piles of folders on either side, framing a small man sitting behind them.

He looked to be about fifty with thinning salt and pepper hair.  He had a bushy mustache and deep brown eyes.  The man looked up when Johnny came into the room, and motioned for Johnny to take the seat across the desk from him.

"Have a seat, Mr. Smith," he said.  "I'm Doug Carlisle."

Johnny walked over to the chair and sat down, nodding in greeting at the lawyer.  "Nice to meet you, Mr. Carlisle."

"I can't say I'm entirely surprised to see you," he said, folding his hands in front of him on the desk.  "Laura called me yesterday afternoon after you left her house."

"Did she?"

"Yes, she did.  She told me to tell you anything you wanted to know," he said, but there was a slight edge to his tone.

"I'm assuming you don't think that's a wise idea."

"Frankly, I don't, Mr. Smith.  She couldn't tell me why you're here, except that you're researching Jessica's case.  That seems a bit mysterious to me.  And I'm not a trusting man.  Too many years in the courts will do that to a person."

"I can understand," Johnny said, moving forward in his seat and leaning on his cane slightly.  "I really can't tell you what I'm doing here either, because I don't know.  Someone sent me Jessica's picture, but no instructions.  I'm here trying to figure out what this person wants."

"So you're here, but you don't know why?" Carlisle asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes."

"Who sent the picture?"

"I don't know that either."

"And you expect me to believe that?"

"It's the truth," Johnny replied.

Mr. Carlisle leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath and running his fingers through his hair in thought.  He seemed to be considering what Johnny told him.  Johnny let him take a moment before speaking again.

"I know this seems strange, Mr. Carlisle-"

"That's putting it mildly.  But what my concerns are don't matter.  Laura wants you to have the information, and it's her call to make, not mine.  She seems to believe that you're a true psychic," he said, practically spitting the last word.  "This is against my better judgment, but if it's okay with Laura, who am I to argue?"

"I assure you, Mr. Carlisle," Johnny said, "this information will go no further than this room."

"It better not," the lawyer said with a slight glare.  "Or else you'll be hearing from me, as well as the court system."

Johnny fought the urge to roll his eyes.  These people were very protective of information that seemed to have little importance.  Or did it?

"I have no interest in dragging Jessica's name through the mud."

Mr. Carlisle didn't seem convinced, but he didn't press the matter.  "What is it that you wanted to know?"

"I'm curious about the will.  Jessica inherited everything, but her family didn't think she deserved it."

"Alex didn't think she deserved it," he corrected Johnny as he rose from his chair.  He walked over to a filing cabinet in the corner of the room, unlocked the top drawer with a key from his pocket, and pulled out a file from within.  After closing the drawer, he made his way back to the desk, throwing the file down on his desk.

"He challenged the will at every turn, but I don't think it was out of greed.  I think he wanted justice for Mike and Lillah, and that was the only way he knew how."

"So you and the Desmonds are on good terms, despite the legal battle for the money?"

"Yes," the man answered.  "For a while, Laura tried to play mediator between the two of us.  I had to uphold the will, no matter what my personal feelings were.  It was legal and binding, I couldn't let him just take everything from her because he felt it was right, even if I agreed."

"You agreed with him?"

"Of course I did," Carlisle answered, giving Johnny an exasperated look as if he should have known.  "What happened to Mike and Lillah was horrible, and Jessica should have to pay for her crime."

"You think she's guilty?"

"How can she possibly be innocent?  She was seen pulling the scissors out of Lillah's body."

Johnny nodded, trying to think of where to take the questioning next.  He still didn't know what he was looking for, and the mangled mess of visions he had been getting wasn't helping matters.  None of them seemed to connect.

"Who controls the money right now?"

"I do, for the most part."

"For the most part?"

"Laura and I both do."

"You both do?" Johnny repeated.

"Yes, we both do.  Most of the money is in a trust fund for Jessica on the chance that she gets out of the mental hospital.  The only money that's taken out is money for her care.  That hospital is rather pricey, and with the amount of medication she's on, it adds up to a considerable amount.  Laura transfers the money from her account to the hospital on a monthly basis."

"Is that wise?  Her husband was trying to take the money from Jessica, so entrusting her with it can't be a good move."

"Laura is a trustworthy person," Carlisle said, narrowing his eyes a little at the implication.  "She and Alex have been responsible for her care since the incident, and I think they've done as good a job as one can expect."

"You're right," Johnny agreed, figuring it wasn't a good idea to get on the bad side of this man if he wanted more information.

"I know what you're getting at, Mr. Smith.  Laura and Alex would never do something immoral to get the money.  They're honest people.  Besides, I keep track of the money from my end, too.  So they couldn't take money out without my knowing.  I know how much her hospital expenses are each month."

Johnny only nodded.

Carlisle sighed and shook his head.  "This is why I didn't want to talk to you, because I knew you'd come here with questions, and then draw conclusions without seeing the whole picture."

"Then show me the whole picture.  Who inherits the money if Jessica dies?"

"No one," the lawyer replied.  "Jessica doesn't have a will, and her parents specified in their will that if she were incapable of creating one of her own or died before coming of legal age, the money was to go to charity, mostly for research into schizophrenia."

"I see."

"I don't think you do, Mr. Smith.  There is nothing shady going on here.  All of this is legal and binding, and was decided upon years ago.  I really don't see the point of your coming here just to stir things up."

Johnny knew that was his queue to leave.  He slowly rose from the chair, silently cursing the stab of pain that radiated down his leg.  He nodded at the lawyer, not wanting to shake hands, possibly making things worse with another confusing vision.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Carlisle."

The lawyer rose and returned the nod.  "I hope you found what you needed."

"Why's that?"

"So you'll realize there's nothing here and leave this grieving family alone."

Johnny nodded one more time before leaving the office, and he made sure to thank the receptionist on his way out.  He stepped out onto the street, looking up and down the nearly empty sidewalk, wondering where he should go next.  His stomach answered with a loud growl, reminding Johnny that he hadn't eaten since the day before.  A glance at his watch told him it was long past lunch time, but shortly before dinner.  He saw a small diner down the street and decided to leave his jeep where it was and walk the short distance.

When he got down there, he went inside, finding the place almost empty.  There was one other man hunched over his meal in a booth at the far side of the diner.  The room was a fifties style diner, including the uniform the waitress wore.  She smiled at him and nodded, indicating he was welcome to seat himself.  He sat one of the stools that lined the counter, and the woman came over to greet him.  She had red hair that was tied back in a loose bun, some of the curls escaping and framing her porcelain face.

Johnny looked at her nametag.  "Hello, Amy."

"Hi," she returned the greeting, handing him a menu.  "Can I get you something to drink?"

"A coffee would be great," he replied after a quick glance at the beverages.

"Coming right up," was her reply before she turned on her heel to get his drink.

Johnny glanced over the menu, taking his time to read all of the specials.  Amy wordlessly put his coffee in front of him then moved to check on the other customer in the diner.  Johnny picked up the cup without looking up from the menu, having trouble deciding between the chicken club sandwich and the hamburger.  He finally made his decision, putting his order in with the waitress when she returned.

As his food was being prepared, Johnny thought over everything he had learned in the last two days.  Jessica Richardson was a very sick girl in a mental hospital after she killed her parents ten years ago.  Her uncle doesn't like her, but her aunt is more sympathetic.  Everyone, including her doctor, is extremely protective of her and her story, but why?  Was it because of the media coverage or was it something else?

Johnny was sure it boiled down to the money.  Ten million dollars was a significant amount of money.  Alex Desmond wanted to take it all from her, but was denied.  Could he be bitter?  And now Laura, or probably more accurately Alex, was in control of the money, so to speak.  They had Doug Carlisle watching over, but he seemed to be loyal to them, more so than Jessica.  Was he in on it as well?

In on what, Johnny wasn't sure.  He didn't even know if there was something going on here.  All he had was an anonymous mailing and a strong, frightening vision.  Not much to go on.

The waitress brought Johnny's sandwich over to him, interrupting his thoughts.  "Here you go, chicken club with fries.  Is there anything else?"

"No, that's all, thank you," he replied.

She smiled at him politely, moving down to the other end of the counter to give him peace while he ate.  Johnny returned to his thoughts as he picked up the sandwich and began eating.  Before he was even consciously aware of it, the sandwich was gone, and he picked at the French fries.

What was he looking for?  Where was the guy that sent him the picture?  Was it Alex Desmond?  Doug Carlisle?  He knew it was an older man, but that was all he knew.  Why was it sent?

Johnny sighed.  The only lead he had was Alex and Laura Desmond.  Something didn't seem right there, because when he and his friends had talked to Laura, she said she didn't handle anything to do with the money, yet Doug Carlisle said it was she who transferred the money for Jessica's care.  Maybe there was something she wasn't telling him.

Johnny looked down at his plate, and it was empty, but he didn't remember eating any of it.

"Can I get you anything else?" Amy asked, having appeared in front of him again.

"No thanks," Johnny answered.  "I'll take my check."

She smiled again then pulled the check out of the front pocket of her apron.  Johnny pulled cash out of his wallet, leaving the amount of the check plus a very generous tip.  The woman smiled in appreciation as she cleared his plate, thanking him as he walked towards the door.  Johnny limped down the street back to his jeep just as the sun began to set on the horizon.  He was still no closer to figuring out what he was supposed to be seeing, but he had a feeling another talk with Laura and Alex Desmond was in order.

Johnny unlocked his vehicle and climbed in.  He hoped he wasn't turning these people's lives upside down for no reason, but he had to find out for his own sanity.


	12. Chapter 12

Johnny pulled his jeep up to the Desmonds' house just as the last rays of sunlight dropped behind the horizon, leaving Johnny in a haze of quickly darkening twilight. He stepped out of his jeep, tapping the top of his cane in thought. What would he say when he went to the door? Would they be willing to talk with him again?  
  
He knew he couldn't just outright accuse them of trying to steal Jessica's money. He didn't even know if this whole thing was about the money. In fact, he didn't even know *what* it was about, and that fact was driving him crazy. He was going in very small circles, all of them leading him right back to the beginning. Who sent him the picture and why?  
  
Johnny approached the door of the Desmonds' home, but stopped in his tracks when the door cracked open slightly, letting a stream of light through the door. Slowly the door opened the rest of the way, revealing a very meek looking Laura Desmond. She glanced behind her quickly then slipped through the narrowly opened door, closing it behind her quietly.  
  
"Hello again, Mrs. Desmond," Johnny greeted her.  
  
"I knew you would be back after you talked to Doug."  
  
"Oh?" Johnny asked.  
  
"There's a lot you don't know about this whole situation, Johnny."  
  
"So I'm beginning to see," he agreed.  
  
Laura sighed, her shoulders slouching. "My sister was a great woman. She was smart, beautiful and funny. So was Mike, her husband. We all thought they were the perfect couple. And when Jessica was born, we thought she would be the perfect child. We were wrong, on everything."  
  
"Everything?" Johnny echoed.  
  
"Lillah and Mike had a lot of problems. Mike was a workaholic, and that left Lillah at home by herself all day. She would call me constantly complaining of boredom. Finally I told her to go out, meet some new people, and maybe that would keep her occupied while Mike was away. She did, but not in the sense I had meant it."  
  
Johnny raised his eyebrow and silently willed her to continue. She seemed to be struggling with her conscience. He could see the battle behind her eyes, so he decided to give her the push she needed.  
  
"She had an affair?"  
  
Laura sighed again. "Yes. It wasn't what I had intended her to do, but nothing I said could stop her. She said she was finally happy again. Someone was paying attention to her again."  
  
"Who was she having the affair with?" Johnny inquired.  
  
"Dr. Simmons," she answered. "He had never stopped loving her, and she was more than willing to run back to that affection when she couldn't get it from Mike.  
  
"She and Dr. Simmons would go out together during the day, and Mike never suspected a thing. I didn't dare tell Alex, he was good friends with Mike. I didn't know what to do."  
  
"So what happened?"  
  
"When Lillah got pregnant with Jessica, she cut off the affair. She told me that Mike came to realize that his family was more important than his job. He was home more often, and the two of them were inseparable again. Like newlyweds."  
  
"How did Dr. Simmons take it?"  
  
"As well as one can imagine. He still loved her, but he said he wanted to make her happy. Every time he looked at her, I could see how much he loved her, but her eyes were once again only for Mike. That didn't stop him from coming around to visit and see her and Jessica. He was always over there, and when Jessica's mental health problems started, he was there almost constantly."  
  
"And that was okay with your sister and her husband?"  
  
"Of course. He was helping their daughter. For a while, she was doing wonderfully, then suddenly she turned for the worse. No one knows what happened."  
  
This definitely put a new light on things. He could imagine what the household would be like with the extra person. He got eerie reflections of his own childhood with Gene Purdy as a constant presence with his mother and father. How did this affair fit into the equation?  
  
"Why are you telling me this, Laura?" Johnny asked.  
  
"Because I want to know what really happened to my sister. Why Jessica would do such a thing to her own parents that loved her so much."  
  
Johnny nodded. "What about the money for her care? Mr. Carlisle says that you handle transferring the money from her trust, but yesterday you said you have nothing to do with it."  
  
"I don't have anything to do with it," she answered, glancing back at the house, as if expecting to see someone behind her. "Alex does that for me. I just sign the paperwork."  
  
"And you think that's wise after your husband tried to sue Jessica?"  
  
"My husband may be stubborn, but he's honest. He would never do something illegal."  
  
With that, she began backing towards the front door of her house. "Please let me know if you find anything, Johnny, but please do it discreetly. If Alex found out I was talking with you again, he'd kill the both of us."  
  
She quickly turned on her heel and opened the door, slipping inside before another word could be said. Johnny stood there for several minutes, trying to organize his thoughts with little success. This was getting far more complicated than he ever thought it could. Now Lillah Richardson and Dr. Simmons had an affair, and Alex Desmond handled the money. Two new pieces to this already complex puzzle. He knew that talking with Mr. Desmond would be a wasted attempt by Laura's last statement. He obviously was not happy with Johnny's meddling.  
  
Maybe there was a reason why he didn't want Johnny around. Was he probing too deep for the man's liking? Close to finding exactly what he was looking for?  
  
He decided that he would have to talk with Dr. Simmons again. Maybe he could shine some light on this new angle.  
  
Johnny turned back down the walkway, glancing at the living room window as he did. He saw Laura Desmond's face peeking out from behind some curtains, but as soon as their eyes met, she quickly closed them.  
  
Johnny headed back to his jeep, trying to think of where to go next. Everything seemed to shed just a little more light on the situation, but it wasn't nearly enough to show him the whole picture. He listened to his cane clicking against the hard cement of the Desmonds' walkway, as if the steady beat would be able to steady his thoughts and figure this out for him.  
  
As Johnny hit the dirt road again, he stopped in his tracks, the scenery seeming achingly familiar. He was hit with a tremendously strong case of déjà vu, and even as he continued slowly to his car, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had done this before.  
  
Just as the realization hit him, Johnny felt a sharp jab of pain in his right shoulder, just to the right of his shoulder blade. He felt the cool liquid sensation of something oozing into his body, and he quickly turned towards his right, bringing his cane up into both hands as defense. As he turned, his attacker backhanded him across the face, throwing him to the dirt which sent him into a coughing fit as dust invaded his lungs.  
  
Through the dust thrown into the air, Johnny saw a tall, dark silhouette towering over him, but could make out no features. Everything around him seemed to slow down, and he found it incredibly hard to keep his eyes open. The edges of his vision began to darken, slowly moving towards the center. He tried to speak, but his lips wouldn't move; he tried to get up, but nothing happened. His arms and legs wouldn't respond to any attempt to move. He felt paralyzed, and fear rose in his throat. Johnny fought to keep his eyes open, but they felt like they were made of lead, and slowly they fell despite his efforts.  
  
"Goodnight, Mr. Smith," a male's voice said, and that was the last thing Johnny heard before he blacked out. 


	13. Chapter 13

"Walt," Bruce said as he paced around Walt Bannerman's office, "I'm telling you, we should go find Johnny."  
  
"And why's that?" Walt asked, leaning back in his chair.  
  
"He's been gone all day-"  
  
"Johnny's disappeared like this before," Walt interrupted.  
  
"Yes, but he usually fills me in on what's going on," Bruce countered.  
  
"Didn't he leave a note that he didn't want you or Dana tagging along?" the sheriff asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.  
  
"True, but I just have a really bad feeling that he's gotten into something that he shouldn't have."  
  
"Which he does regularly. Bruce, I really think you're worrying over nothing. Johnny's probably just taking a day trip or something."  
  
Bruce rolled his eyes. "Walt, you saw him yesterday. You know Johnny as well as I do when it comes to his visions. He won't rest until he's found what he's after, and he has a tendency to step on people's toes as he does it. I'm worried about him because ever since he got hold of that picture, he's been pretty scary about it. Plus, the visions he's been having haven't been making much sense."  
  
"How so?" Walt asked.  
  
"He was having visions of monsters," Bruce told him. "That's weird, even for Johnny."  
  
Walt sighed. "I really can't abandon my post on one of your bad feelings."  
  
"How often are my bad feelings right?"  
  
The sheriff sighed again, and Bruce could see him struggling with dedication to his job and concern for his friend. "All right. I'm off in two hours anyway, so I'll have Roscoe cover me for the rest of the night. If I'm wasting my time, I'm going to be very unhappy."  
  
"Thanks Walt, I owe you one," Bruce said.  
  
"Yes, you do."  
  
~~  
  
Johnny woke hours later, slowly opening his eyes. It took him a minute to figure out if his eyes were open or closed; because the room was so dark, it made no difference. He blinked a few times, hoping that would allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but with no light coming into the room, it didn't help. There was a draft in the room, chilling it uncomfortably. He was sure if he could see in the darkness, he would've been able to see his breath.  
  
Johnny slowly sat up, immediately regretting it as his head started to spin, causing a wave of dizziness and nausea to overwhelm him. He raised a hand to his head, hoping that would stop the pounding and spinning, but it did nothing to help the sick feeling in his stomach.  
  
Involuntarily groaning, Johnny lowered himself back to the floor, rolling onto his back. He kept a hand on his head, somehow convinced that was helping, and closed his eyes again. Just as the sick feeling had started to die down, a door across the room flung open and slammed against the wall with a loud bang, sending another wave of agony reverberating through his skull.  
  
Johnny groaned again, trying to pick his head up off the floor to see across the room at the door that had just opened. The piercing rays of light that came through felt like daggers in Johnny's sensitive eyes, and he brought a hand up to shield them. There was a man standing in the doorway, his silhouette outlined in the doorframe.  
  
"Good morning, Mr. Smith," the man said in a very familiar voice.  
  
"Where am I?" Johnny croaked, his voice sounding scratchy from a dry throat.  
  
"That's not important," the man replied. "The important thing is that you're here. I regret having to take this step, but you dug yourself in too deep, and now it's too late to get yourself out."  
  
The man slowly walked towards Johnny, and Johnny followed the man's movements with his eyes the best he could in the dark. His eyes were beginning to adjust to the bit of light being let in through the doorway, and finally the man's face came into view. Dr. Simmons stared down at Johnny with an insane look in his eyes and a menacing grin curling his lips.  
  
"I don't understand," Johnny said, looking up at him. He was hoping to buy some time by having the man explain himself, and hoped that the drugged feeling clouding his thought processes would wear off. Johnny reached around himself, hoping that his cane was nearby, giving him some sort of weapon. Every movement was difficult, allowing him to only search a small area in which his cane was not located.  
  
"Don't patronize me, Mr. Smith," the doctor said. "I know you understand perfectly. It's only a matter of time before your reporter friend uncovers the truth, and then you call in the cavalry. I'm hoping with your disappearance, the focus will be on you and allow me to slip away undetected."  
  
"Uncovers what truth?" Johnny asked.  
  
Dr. Simmons sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. He approached Johnny, crouching down next to him as he spoke. "As if you don't know. About me and Lillah. About Jessica. About the money. About everything."  
  
Dr. Simmons rose quickly and began pacing around the room with long strides. Johnny tried to follow him as he moved, but his eyes and head just couldn't keep up with the man. He couldn't fight the sluggish feeling that consumed his brain, so he was content to just listen as the doctor spoke.  
  
"I'm sure you've heard about the affair that Lillah and I had. Or did you have visions about it? Yes, Mr. Smith, I know all about you. Your friends at the sheriff's department were very helpful in giving me lots of information on you. How brave of you to risk your life so much to save others. A true hero."  
  
"Thanks," Johnny slurred, sarcasm dripping from the word.  
  
"You're welcome," the doctor replied almost cheerfully, as if giving himself a pat on the back. "Now as I was saying, I'm sure you know about the affair that Lillah and I had. We were so happy together, she loved me and I loved her."  
  
"But she was married," Johnny added.  
  
"To that miserable son of a bitch!" the doctor shouted, charging at Johnny. Johnny did his best to curl up in protection, expecting to be hit, but thankfully Dr. Simmons stopped short and the anger seemed to melt off of his face. When he started talking again, he had an air of calmness that wasn't there seconds before. "He didn't deserve her. She deserved someone who would look after her. Someone who would always be there for her."  
  
"Meaning you."  
  
"Of course," he replied as he resumed pacing the room. "I was always there for her, even when he wasn't."  
  
"Then she got pregnant and that changed," Johnny croaked. Speaking was still difficult, and although his brain thought the words clearly, the message didn't seem to be fully transmitted to his lips, causing the words to sound slurred and slow.  
  
"It shouldn't have changed things," he growled, the scowl returning. "If anything that should have tightened our bond."  
  
Johnny didn't say anything, but Dr. Simmons looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for some answer from him. The blond didn't know what to say, because he knew if he said the wrong thing, it could put him in serious danger. When he didn't say anything, the doctor sighed and took two small steps over to where Johnny lay.  
  
"I'll let you see for yourself," he said has he laid a hand on Johnny's shoulder.  
  
At first, nothing happened, and Johnny thought that maybe the effects of the drug he had been given was hindering his dead zone. He was about to voice those thoughts when the scene changed and he was ripped out of the dark room. The picture wasn't as clear as it usually was, but he recognized the scene in front of him, the one he had seen in Dr. Simmons' office the day before. The old Victorian house was in front of him, and again the little girl came running out to greet him. Jessica Richardson. She seemed to move more slowly than the first time he had seen it, but Johnny knew it had to be because of the drug.  
  
"Uncle Bobby!" the girl cried with outstretched arms, sounding as if she were underwater.  
  
Johnny reached out his arms to catch her, and when he did, he felt something he hadn't felt the first time. Something very strong and very unexpected.  
  
Fatherly pride.  
  
Johnny was thrown back into the dark room, staring up into the evil eyes of Dr. Simmons.  
  
"You're Jessica's father."  
  
"Yes," the doctor said, flashing an insane grin. "So the stories about your abilities are true. How interesting."  
  
Dr. Simmons moved away from Johnny again, pacing the floor. Johnny still couldn't follow his movements, and he wondered how long this feeling would last. He hoped not for much longer, because if he was going to escape, he needed to be able to think, and that was too difficult. Johnny silently wished he hadn't ditched Dana and Bruce, but it was too late for that.  
  
"I was Jessica's father, but Lillah said she couldn't tell Mike. She cast me aside and let that bastard raise my child!"  
  
"Now I know where the mental instability comes from in the family," Johnny thought, but knew better than to say that aloud.  
  
"So you wanted to get back at her," he said instead.  
  
"What man wouldn't?" Dr. Simmons continued. "She used me and just dumped me! I gave her a child that man could never give her!"  
  
"So you decided to kill them," Johnny said. The words were getting clearer, and the numb feeling in his lips was starting to wear off.  
  
"But I didn't kill them, Johnny. Jessica did," he laughed. "Ah, the irony. Their pride and joy was their demise."  
  
"How'd you do it?"  
  
"How much do you know about schizophrenics, Johnny?"  
  
"Not much."  
  
Dr. Simmons scoffed, as if Johnny's answer had been a personal insult. "Just like the rest of America. Everyone has their preconceptions about schizophrenics, but no one really knows what they are and how they act."  
  
Johnny tried to sit up as the doctor walked around the room, lecturing him on his vast knowledge of the disease. Johnny didn't hear much of it, but tried to feign interest in order to keep the man occupied. The longer he spent talking, the longer Johnny had to work off the drug he had been given. Thoughts were coming more clearly now, but the nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach refused to diminish. Johnny slowly and carefully lifted his head from the dirt floor, and it felt like a lead weight. He couldn't muster enough strength to get it more than a few inches from the floor, then let it drop again with a groan.  
  
"Really, Johnny," the doctor said with a sigh of exasperation. "Even if you could manage to get off the floor, how far do you think you'll get? Do you think I'd just let you walk past me? And even if you did, do you think you'd make it out of here? I thought you were a more rational man than that."  
  
"Having your life threatened sort of throws rationalization out the window," Johnny replied.  
  
"But I haven't threatened your life," he answered matter-of-factly. "Not yet."  
  
Johnny tried not to show fear in his eyes, hoping to distract the doctor and drag this out as long as possible. Stall for time, that's what he had to do. What more time would do, he wasn't sure. Maybe he would find an escape route. But Dr. Simmons was right; in his condition, he wouldn't get very far. Maybe help would show up to his rescue. But who? Dana? Bruce? Walt? They were all miles away in Cleaves Mills, probably not even giving him a second thought. No, he was on his own with this one.  
  
"There's one thing I don't understand," Johnny said, and that seemed to peak the doctor's curiosity.  
  
"And what's that?"  
  
"How you got Jessica to kill her parents, and why you would use your own daughter like that."  
  
"That's two things, Johnny. But it's quite simple, really. To answer your second query first, she may have been of my genes, but once that bastard corrupted her, she was no longer my daughter. She was one of them."  
  
Johnny just looked up at him, glad that his vision was finally coming into focus, but he didn't like the look on the doctor's face. His eyes were glassy, and he saw nothing but insanity inside them.  
  
"As I was saying before, what most people don't know about schizophrenics is that they're actually very receptive to suggestions given to those close to them."  
  
Dr. Simmons moved around the room, kicking up little clouds of dust as he moved. He seemed to have a little bounce to his step, a cheery man telling a grim story.  
  
"When Jessica was diagnosed as schizophrenic, Lillah came running back to me, begging me to help our daughter. She apologized profusely until I agreed to help the poor girl. So I did. I began putting Jessica on a strict regiment of drugs and therapy.  
  
"She showed vast improvement, and Lillah was eternally grateful, as she should have been. But once Jessica's condition seemed to improve, she started to drift away from me again."  
  
"So you decided that Jessica needed to be sick," Johnny added.  
  
"Exactly. That was the only way to keep Lillah near me," Dr. Simmons stated in a cold tone. "She needed to realize that I wasn't going anywhere, and I controlled our daughter, not her."  
  
"So you used Jessica to get back at her."  
  
"Of course."  
  
When he got nothing beyond that simple answer, Johnny knew he had to keep the conversation going. The more Dr. Simmons talked, the better his chances were.  
  
"What led to that night?"  
  
"You mean the night Jessica killed her parents?" the doctor asked with a smile, although he already knew the answer.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"A lot of work. Like I said before, not many people know much about schizophrenics, Johnny. Take them off their medication, play up on their paranoia, and it's quite easy to push them over the edge," he said with a chuckle. Johnny just looked at him wide eyed, hoping his look of shock would encourage the doctor to continue, which it did. "I slowly took Jessica off her medication. Can't do it too fast or you risk messing up everything. Slowly wean her off of it. Then in therapy, portray her parents as a threat. Make them out to be the evil she's trying to avoid. They're the ones the voices want her to destroy. Destroy them and you'll be safe. So I dropped her off that night, knowing exactly what she would do. And the police just accepted it as insane girl murders her parents."  
  
The doctor leaned his head back and laughed out loud, the sound sending chills down Johnny's spine.  
  
"And who would believe the ranting of an insane girl, even if she could tell them what happened?" he added with a laugh.  
  
Dr. Simmons finally calmed down, wiping a stray tear that had formed in the corner of his eye. The smile slowly faded from his lips, and the cold glare in his eyes made Johnny shiver.  
  
"And now that you know everything, I really can't let you go."  
  
"I have one more question," Johnny said in desperation, knowing this was coming to a close much too soon.  
  
"And that is?" Dr. Simmons asked, crossing his arms in impatience.  
  
"Why keep Jessica alive in the hospital? Why not kill her too?"  
  
"Very simple, Johnny. Money."  
  
"So this was all about the money, then?" Johnny asked. The strength in his body was slowly returning, but much too slow for his liking. If this conversation was going to end as soon as Johnny thought it was, there was no way he would be able to get out of there. Things were looking grim, but he refused to give up.  
  
"Not at all," the doctor replied with a smile. "The money was just a pleasant side effect. Rubbing salt into the wound. And that stupid aunt and uncle of hers never questions anything I tell them. She's started a new medication, that will cost an extra five hundred a month; new accommodations, another thousand a month."  
  
"How much have you taken from them?"  
  
"Just over a million dollars," he chuckled. Johnny was about to open his mouth to ask more questions, but Dr. Simmons waved at hand at him to silence him. "As much as I've enjoyed our little chat, I really must be going."  
  
"You won't get far," Johnny told him.  
  
"Don't be so sure of that. A million dollars can get one pretty far."  
  
Dr. Simmons reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something Johnny had trouble recognizing until he felt a sharp pain in his arm. He felt the pressure of a needle emptying its contents into his arm, but by the time he thought to struggle, it was already running through his system.  
  
"What was that?" Johnny asked, looking up at the man with wide eyes.  
  
"A simple sedative," Dr. Simmons replied with a grin as he pulled the needle out. "That's what I used to bring you here. However, this sedative has some serious side effects if given in too high a dosage. Nausea, dizziness, hallucinations, and eventually death. I'm sorry it had to come to this, Johnny."  
  
Johnny put his hands against the floor, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His head spun, but Johnny refused to give up. He continued to force his body off the floor, and Dr. Simmons watched him with a look of what Johnny thought was amusement.  
  
Johnny's limbs felt like they were made of jell-o, wobbling unsteadily underneath him as he rose to his knees. His arms shook under the weight of his body, and he could will his body no further. His legs refused to budge from underneath him, and his arms could support no more pressure in order to stand himself up.  
  
"A very noble effort, Mr. Smith," the doctor laughed. "But now I must leave you. I have a flight to catch."  
  
Dr. Simmons turned back towards the doorway, and Johnny tried to focus on him, but the drugs were taking effect, making it hard to concentrate on anything. Johnny finally saw what the vision that had been haunting him was. It hadn't been a vision of what Jessica was experiencing; it had been a vision of his future, of his capture. Dr. Simmons walked to the doorway and turned back to look at Johnny one last time. The familiar silhouette watched him, and his shoulders shook in evil laughter before the door to the room slammed closed, swallowing Johnny in darkness once more.  
  
Johnny tried hard to fight the sluggish feeling that was clouding his brain, making another desperate attempt to get to his feet. He leaned heavily on his arm to push himself to his feet, but his arm gave away, sending him tumbling to the floor. He fell on his face, getting a mouthful of dirt that sent him into a coughing fit. Johnny rolled onto his back, staring up into the darkness, trying desperately to get hold of his wandering mind.  
  
A sick feeling rose in his stomach, and he fought hard to keep the contents of his stomach where they were. His hands began to shake uncontrollably, and soon the shaking consumed his arms and legs. Johnny heard a voice in the darkness to his right, and he snapped his head around in that direction.  
  
"Hello?" he called into the darkness, his voice shaking with the rest of his body.  
  
He only heard mumbling and couldn't make out any words, like in his vision, but the voices seemed to get louder. The noise seemed to move all around him, making Johnny feel trapped, and his shaking body was unwilling to move to get him out of there.  
  
"Go away!" he shouted into the darkness. The voices didn't listen, but only increased in their intensity.  
  
"Shut up!" he screamed.  
  
Johnny tried to move his hands up to block his ears, but his arms would not move the way he wanted. They stayed by his side, shaking. He closed his eyes, as if that would help block out the voices, but it did nothing to help him. His body shook and seized as the poison moved through his system. He took in a shaky breath, trying to fill his lungs to keep himself calm, but the voices in the darkness got louder and more overwhelming.  
  
They were everywhere. Surrounding him. Suffocating him.  
  
"SHUT UP!" he cried, a desperate attempt to get them to go away.  
  
Suddenly, the door slammed open, sending the piercing light from the other room directly into Johnny's eyes. He squinted, unable to bring his hands up to shield his eyes, but tried to make out the figure in the doorway. Johnny scooted his body back against the wall, trying to keep his distance between himself and the towering figure in the doorway.  
  
It seemed to be at least ten feet tall, its massive body looming high above Johnny. Johnny saw four arms, and he wondered what kind of monster the doctor has sent to finish the job of killing him. He heard a roar from it in a deep voice, something that sounded like words, but at the same time sounded like an animalistic growl.  
  
The figure rapidly approached, and Johnny screamed, hoping the intensity of his voice would scare this thing away. It had the opposite effect, and the monster approached more quickly, sprinting across the room. Johnny turned his head away, unwilling to look at it up close.  
  
"Leave me alone!" Johnny cried, closing his eyes tightly.  
  
"Johnny," a vaguely familiar voice said, worry and concern saturating it. Part of his brain was telling him to turn around, but the other, more powerful part, was telling him to get away.  
  
"No!" Johnny screamed, flinging his arms up in order to fight off the predator.  
  
The other figure grabbed his arms, pinning them at his sides, leaving him helpless to defend himself. Johnny's body shook, partially against his will, and partially due to his struggles. He had to get away. He didn't want to die.  
  
"Johnny, look at me!" the voice said urgently.  
  
Johnny continued to fight and struggle to the best of his ability, but he could feel the energy draining out of his body. Soon, he could barely muster the energy to breathe. Filling his lungs seemed to take more effort, and his body wasn't willing to do it anymore. He gasped as the figure took his chin in his hand, forcing Johnny to look towards him.  
  
Johnny tried hard to concentrate on what was in front of him, but the darkness his eyes were accustomed to made the figure only seem like a shadow in front of him.  
  
"Hang on Johnny," the figure said, but to Johnny's ears, it sounded slurred.  
  
The figure looked back over its shoulder and shouted something, but Johnny only heard two words; "ambulance" and "hurry."  
  
When the stranger looked back at him, Johnny was able to make out a few features that seemed familiar, something that comforted Johnny inexplicably. He saw a familiar strong jaw line, and looked slightly higher to see brown eyes that looked at him with a knowing look.  
  
"Walt?" he choked out.  
  
"Yeah, hang on, Johnny." the figure replied, but the rest of his words were lost in confusion.  
  
Two other figures came rushing into the room, and Johnny's paranoia returned, sending him into another struggling fit. His body screamed in protest, unable to move the way he wanted to, and Walt's hands held Johnny still. A primal scream of fear erupted from Johnny's mouth, and the sound made Walt shudder. He'd never heard anything so pitiful and so disturbing.  
  
"Noooooo!" Johnny cried, and then his body went slack.  
  
His eyes were closed and his breathing was erratic, and that sent the paramedics into a frenzy.  
  
The two paramedics quickly moved Walt out of the way, insisting that they needed to get Johnny out. The sheriff stood back and watched as his friend's body was lifted onto a portable stretcher and rushed out of the room in seconds. Walt followed them up the basement stairs that lead to an abandoned hallway in the hospital. By the time Walt made it down the hall and out the door leading to the front of the hospital, the paramedics had already loaded Johnny into the ambulance and were driving away.  
  
Walt saw that Bruce was nowhere in sight, and figured he had leapt into the ambulance with Johnny. His feeling had been right, again. He began to wonder if some of Johnny's psychic energy had rubbed off onto his friend. Walt went to his cruiser and got in, taking a second to say a silent prayer that Johnny would be okay before starting the engine and taking off after the ambulance. 


	14. Chapter 14

Johnny slowly opened his eyes and was slightly relieved to find himself looking at the inside of a sterile hospital room. He heard the mechanical beep of a heart monitor, but that was the only sound in the room. He attempted to sit up, but groaned when the action made his head swim.  
  
"Whoa, hang on there, buddy," Bruce said, placing a hand on Johnny's chest to prevent him from sitting up. "I just called for your doctor, so let's not do anything crazy."  
  
"Hey Bruce," Johnny said, looking up at his friend. He hadn't seen Bruce at first, but was glad that he was there.  
  
"Hey," his friend returned the greeting.  
  
Dr. Gibson walked into the room, glancing at Johnny's chart before looking up at her patient and smiling.  
  
"Hello again, Johnny," Dr. Gibson said. "I thought you would've had enough of me by now."  
  
"I figured one more visit couldn't hurt," Johnny joked.  
  
"This one almost did," the doctor replied grimly. "You're lucky you got here when you did. We had another drug that counteracted the sedative Dr. Simmons gave you, but if you had been any later-"  
  
Johnny cut her off with a wave of his hand. "I don't think I want to hear the rest of that sentence."  
  
"You don't," Bruce jumped in. "I've heard it."  
  
"So what happened?" Johnny asked, looking at his friend quizzically.  
  
"Well, I was worried when I went to your house and you were gone. You really need to stop doing that, Johnny," he said, shaking a finger at him. "I went to Walt, and we came looking for you. Good thing we did, too. We found your jeep near the Desmond's house, partially hidden in the trees. We knew something was up, so we talked with Laura Desmond. She told us everything she'd told you. Since Alex Desmond was at the house with her, we figured you weren't taken by him, so the next logical choice was Dr. Simmons. We went to the hospital, and one of the nurses said she saw Dr. Simmons bring a new patient in that matched your description."  
  
"What happened to Dr. Simmons?" Johnny asked.  
  
"He was arrested at the airport, trying to catch a flight to Mexico," Bruce told him. "The man cried like a baby when he was arrested. Spilled everything."  
  
Johnny sighed with relief. "That's good to hear."  
  
"It's good to see you're okay too, man," Bruce said. "But don't you ever run off on my like that again."  
  
"Yes, sir," Johnny replied with a chuckle.  
  
Bruce opened his mouth to speak again, but there was a light knock on the door that made him close it. The door was slightly ajar from when Dr. Gibson had entered, and Johnny saw a set of eyes peeking through the crack.  
  
"Come in," Johnny said.  
  
The door opened, and an older man entered. He looked to be in his seventies with silver thin hair covering his head. His age didn't seem to affect his posture however, because the man stood up straight, his shoulders back with pride. He had a kind face with very intense, dark brown eyes. He wore a simple gray sweater that looked older than Johnny, a pair of nicely pressed black slacks, and very clean black shoes.  
  
"Excuse me, Mr. Smith," the man said with a polite nod of his head at the psychic. "I don't mean to interrupt."  
  
"That's okay," Johnny replied, glancing at Bruce and Dr. Gibson. "You're not interrupting."  
  
Bruce and Dr. Gibson seemed to catch on their dismissal and headed towards the door.  
  
"I'll be back in a little while to check on your vitals," the doctor said. "Just don't get out of bed. I don't want you straining yourself."  
  
"I'll be outside getting a soda," Bruce told his friend, then they were both gone.  
  
"You're the one that sent me the picture," Johnny said without a question in his voice.  
  
"Yes, I am," the man confirmed.  
  
"You know, you could've made it easier for me and sent a letter with it telling me what you wanted me to see," the blond chuckled.  
  
The man didn't laugh, only sighed. "I was hoping you'd be able to see what was going on there without drudging up Mrs. Richardson's past with Dr. Simmons. The last thing I wanted was to disrespect her memory."  
  
Johnny struggled up onto his elbows, letting out a quiet moan of pain as he did. His head swam momentarily, but the feeling passed as Johnny sat up in his bed to look the man in the eye as they spoke.  
  
"You haven't disrespected her," Johnny told him. "If anything, you've done the opposite. You helped Jessica."  
  
The man nodded, but by the look on his face, Johnny could tell he wasn't satisfied with that answer. He clasped his hands in front of him, bowing his head so he wouldn't have to look Johnny in the eyes.  
  
"By the way," Johnny said, extending his hand. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. Johnny Smith."  
  
"James Cummings," the man said, grasping Johnny's hand in a firm handshake. Johnny was struck with another vision, and the final piece to this puzzle finally fell into place.  
  
"You were the Richardsons' butler."  
  
James nodded and bowed his head again. "I was their head butler, yes."  
  
"So why did you send me that picture?"  
  
"I knew something was happening to Jessica and it had to do with that doctor. At the beginning, he seemed to be the best thing that happened to Jessica. He had her on medication once she was diagnosed, and for a while, her behavior seemed to improve. She was much easier to talk to, less distracted, and she was able to concentrate for longer periods of time. We were all so grateful that we were getting our Jessica back.  
  
"Things began changing right before her eighteenth birthday. She seemed to be regressing back to her old self. She was impossible to talk to, and she would not do her schoolwork despite prodding from me and her parents. She was even having trouble keeping up her personal hygiene. She'd forget to take showers or baths, and she'd fight her mother and me about brushing her teeth.  
  
"We didn't know what to do, but we trusted Dr. Simmons knew what he was doing. Mrs. Richardson told me she had spoken with him about Jessica, and he told her he was doing all that he could for Jessica, but she wasn't responding to her medication anymore. He said to try higher doses, but nothing seemed to work.  
  
"That night, Jessica hadn't returned home from school. Mr. and Mrs. Richardson were distraught and had called the school, but they told them that she had left with the other children. The two went searching for her around town, but they found no trace of her. They stopped by Dr. Simmons's office, but he hadn't seen her either. Or so he claimed."  
  
"You knew otherwise?"  
  
"Of course. I saw that look in his eyes. I knew he was lying. I told Mr. and Mrs. Richardson to stay home in case Jessica showed, but I went out looking for her again. I went to his office, but everything was locked up, and when I went to his home, I saw the same thing. So I returned home, only to find I was too late."  
  
Johnny saw the man's eyes begin to water, but he took a deep breath and fought back the tears.  
  
"I'm really sorry about what happened to them," Johnny said.  
  
"So am I, but at least now Jessica will be safe, thanks to you, Mr. Smith," the butler replied.  
  
"What's going to happen to her now?" Johnny asked.  
  
"Her aunt and uncle have already gotten her a new psychiatrist. It'll be a long road to recovery, but we're all hopeful. We owe you everything, Mr. Smith. Thank you."  
  
"Don't thank me. You're the one that saved her. I just helped a little."  
  
The old man smiled a little, and nodded his head. "I just wanted to come here and thank you in person. You didn't have to help us, yet you did. We are all in your debt."  
  
"You're more than welcome, Mr. Cummings."  
  
Mr. Cummings slowly backed towards the door, giving Johnny one more appreciative look. "I'll keep you updated on Jessica's condition."  
  
"You do that," Johnny replied with a grin. "But be sure to sign the letter. No more mysteries."  
  
"Agreed," the man said with a small smile then he slipped out the door.  
  
Bruce entered a few minutes later, soda in hand. "So?"  
  
"It turns out the butler did it." 


	15. Author's Notes

Hello all,  
  
Thanks for taking the time to read my story, as it's taking me a long time to write. I thank those that have been very patient with me. If anyone has any suggestions about this story, how it can be improved, I would love to hear them! I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing.  
  
This story has been nearly a year in the making, but it's finally done! I'm not the most prolific of writers, but I kept my promise to finish this one. Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to keep writing it. I hope you enjoyed it!  
  
Thanks again to all of you!  
  
Raven 


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